


Blood and Marrow

by washi



Series: Blood and Marrow [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 77,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/washi/pseuds/washi
Summary: Monsters came to the surface expecting freedom. Humanity had a different plan.It has been five years since the Barrier fell. Monsters have even less freedom than they had in the Underground. Collared and enslaved by humans, they are forced to do as bid by owners.Theresa Navarro is a human who fought for monster equality.Now she owns her own slave.She's not happy with this development.---This is a fanfiction/partial retelling of SlaveTale by V_mum, which I highly highly recommend! The beginning is extremely similar, and begins deviating around chapter 6.
Series: Blood and Marrow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2002525
Comments: 77
Kudos: 111





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [SlaveTale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370509) by [V_mum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_mum/pseuds/V_mum). 



> Triggers will be labeled for each chapter in the author notes in ALL CAPS.
> 
> \---
> 
> TRIGGERS: MENTION OF TERRORISM AND CATASTROPHE, MENTION OF POLITICAL VIOLENCE, DISCUSSION OF SLAVERY AND VIOLATIONS OF HUMAN RIGHTS
> 
> \---
> 
> This is partially a retelling of SlaveTale from a first person perspective with an OC who makes (some) different decisions than V_mum's Reader.
> 
> This starts off **very** similar to the source, which I highly recommend you read. Major deviations begin occurring around chapter 6. Many of the same plot points will be hit. The difference will be in how the character gets to those plot points (my story will diverge as it goes on).
> 
> As of my starting this story there are around 70 chapters to SlaveTale.

There are events that define generations. Once or twice a decade an event will change the course of history so much that everyone knows about it.

Pearl Harbor. Hiroshima. The United States landing on the moon and winning the space race. JFK’s assassination. The murder of John Lennon. The fall of the Berlin Wall. Columbine. 9/11.

The day myth and reality collided, and our understanding of the world flew into chaos.

The day I turned on the television and saw two monsters and a human child standing before reporters. They spoke of how they had been imprisoned within Mount Ebott. How the child had traveled through the Underground and broken the barrier. The child had saved them, with mercy and kindness, and was now their ambassador.

The reaction of the humans who lived near the mountain was swift. The military got involved immediately. A quarantine was in effect, the monsters forbidden from nearing Ebott City.

A refugee tent city grew outside the mountain entrance as the Underground empties. As monsters left their homes and ventured to the surface.

After months of debate and study a handful of monsters were deemed “safe” and allowed to integrate into human society. In a sign of goodwill, the mayor of Ebott City gave them homes, jobs, and legal protection. Interviews with the king and former queen were frequent features on daytime TV. Film crews and paparazzi followed the serious human child.

Slowly monsters were allowed to leave the camp and permitted to buy property, rent homes, live in the city. It became normal to see them walking down the street or in a shop.

Everything looked good for monster integration.

Then, somehow, everything went sideways.

Everyone had different theories on how it happened, but all that mattered was it did. The whiplash shift in public opinion was sudden and violent. One day monsters were becoming a normal part of life in Ebott City. The next they were the enemy, feared and hated.

The protests started.

There were riots and violence.

In an attempt to quell fears, some researchers suggested a device. A “Human Protection Device.” Using a combination of magic and technology it would signal untruths told by the wearer. A sort of lie detector.

The monster who helped develop it wore one herself to show that it was safe.

It didn’t take long for legislation to pass that required monsters to wear the collars on official business.

Then an upgrade was released and the device could _control_ speech.

Of course, it wasn’t too difficult a stretch to go from controlling speech to controlling _action_.

Political pundits shouted about the collars being necessary to protect humans from the growing “Monster Menace.”

Shop windows began putting up signs declaring “NO MONSTER ALLOWED WITHOUT HPD.”

Landlords stopped allowing monsters to rent from them. Monster families were evicted with little to no warning.

Banks wouldn’t give monsters loans, existing loans were revoked.

Businesses fired monster employees.

Those that remained friendly to monsters became targets. Suspicion of “monster sympathies” could destroy a career.

It was an easy thing to strip away the rest of monster rights.

They couldn’t vote. They had no way to make themselves heard. Their pleas for help fell on deaf ears, shouted over by humans who saw them as an enemy.

There were more riots, protests, vandalism, violence.

There was dust on the wind, but no monster raised a hand against a human except in self defense.

Then the final piece fell into place. The last, horrible law.

“It’s to protect _them_ as much as _us_!” The pundits shouted. “It’s better than any other alternative!”

All monsters were now slaves. No longer free to pursue their own lives, they became property. Owned by some human, bought and sold like livestock.

The collars made it all so easy.

Few remembered where they were when that final bill was signed into law. Fewer remembered where they were the day the new law was enacted.

Monsters disappeared from their homes. Families were torn apart. Collared and sold by the government that was supposed to protect them.

The humans who had been against monster slavery were defeated. Crushed by their failure to protect those who needed it most.

Those who were for monster slavery were bolstered. Empowered by what they had achieved.

The world had changed.

It seemed no one cared.


	2. The Bartender Made of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the main character gets lunch and ogles a fire elemental.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: None that I'm aware of?

It had been a little over three years since the slavery bill was enacted, and the only change was the general attitude toward monsters worsening.

Human-on-monster violence had gone down, something bigots crowed about on radio talk shows. “Monster Slavery has been a huge help in integration of monsters into human society! It has been a huge benefit to both monster _and_ humankind!”

No one ever seemed to mention that was because property crime was apparently a worse offense than monstercide. After all, humans actually had legal recourse if their “property” was damaged.

Monsters were no longer seen as people, and became possessions instead. They were simply things to be purchased and sold. Obtained when needed and discarded when no longer useful. There were laws in place to protect the new caste, but lack of enforcement was a constant issue, and there were few willing to fight it.

I sighed, pulling myself out of my thoughts.

I walked by a street preacher and his monster slave. The preacher was shouting about how monster slavery was a moral good that God himself had commanded of his faithful servants. The poor cat monster beside him had a strained, collar-forced smile on his face and was handing out tracts, presumably about all the ways the Bible said his “kind” were abominations to the Lord, deserving of their bondage.

He looked like he was about to have a panic attack or a mental breakdown.

Just out of sight of the preacher I stopped and held out my hand for a tract. When the cat monster handed the pamphlet to me I slid a monster candy into his paw, giving him what I hoped was an encouraging smile.

Then, before he could respond, I backed away and slid the tract into my messenger bag and continued on before the preacher noticed me. I didn’t want to get into a theological discussion about the appropriateness of the world.

I continued on to my destination, Solar’s Bar and Grill. A little hole-in-the-wall eatery owned by a high school acquaintance, Apollo Thomas.

I didn’t go to restaurants a lot. Aside from Solar’s and a cafe I knew I almost never ate out. Part of that was cost - I was barely surviving as it was - but I also hated how most businesses treated their monster slaves.

It was hard to have an appetite when you couldn’t stomach the abuse you might be funding.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to find businesses that _didn’t_ have a monster slave of some sort. Often they were relegated to being either a sort of mascot or doing the unskilled drudgery work.

Paid employees complained about cleaning out the grease trap? Buy a monster and force _them_ to do it. Minimum-wage high schoolers can’t stay overnight to clean? The overworked slave can clean up the whole place, and you don’t have to pay them overtime!

What’s a monster going to do? _Complain_? You can just order them to shut up and you’ll never have to hear them say another word.

It was almost a rite of passage for restaurants to have a monster slave. One of the signs that a business was going to succeed.

Solar’s was no different.

Apollo had searched for a slave for his establishment for a long time. He had wanted someone both impressive and capable. Someone who could cook, clean, run the bar and serve drinks, all while being a visual draw.

He had certainly succeeded.

The man who worked Apollo’s bar was always well-dressed in a tailored dress shirt, waistcoat, suit pants, and shiny black loafers. His only accessories were a pair of glasses, a neatly tied bow tie, and occasionally black arm garters.

He also happened to be made entirely of fire.

His name was Grillby, and he was one of the few people I actually liked.

I walked into the dining room and glanced around, noting how empty the place was. I went to my usual seat at the bar, giving a quick wave to Grillby that I hoped communicated “Take your time, I’m not in a rush.”

Apollo wasn’t around, which was fine by me. The man was nice enough, but he wasn’t my favorite person in the world, and I was already planning on seeing my mother today. There was a limit to my ability to _people_.

“Welcome to Solar’s Bar and Grill, can I get you anything to start with?” Grillby asked, his smokey voice crackling and popping like flame, just loud enough to hear over the vapid top-fifty pop-rock music.

Against the flames of his neck the collar blinked, an unpleasant reminder that he wasn’t speaking by choice.

As far as I was aware, the fire elemental had very few commands on him. One was that he had to speak the welcome phrase to everyone who sat at the bar, loudly and clearly. Apollo was a business man, a ‘ _restauranteur_ ,’ and he needed his bartender to be social and welcoming.

So he forced Grillby to speak, even though it was obviously something that made him deeply uncomfortable.

I didn’t answer his question. I was enough of a regular that Grillby knew what I wanted and was already putting it together. Burger, small fry, cheapest and hardest liquor on ice. Exact same thing I got every time I came in.

The monster pulled out a glass to fill and I stopped him with a raise of my hand, “Oh! Hold the drink, Grillbz. I’m gonna be driving.”

He nodded and held the glass out to me, motioning toward the fountain drink dispenser. I took the glass from him with a smile, then went to figure out what I wanted. It was one of those fancy touch-screen deals with a hundred options.

I settled on water after a quick look at the choices and wandered back to my seat to watch Grillby work.

The flame elemental was quick and efficient as he worked, and I wondered what he done in the Underground before the Barrier fell. Maybe he had been a bartender there, too.

He was always well-dressed, something I knew Apollo was more than happy to fund. The human man dressed similarly, although on him the style seemed sloppier and sleazier. Like a used car salesman trying to make himself look respectable while he sold you the worst car on the lot. He simply didn’t have the right bearing, and he was clumsy, so his clothes were often rumpled and stained with mysterious substances.

Grillby, though, he did suits a _whole_ lot of good.

The bartender in question slid my food across the counter with a too-loud, collar forced, “Your order, ma’am.”

I thanked him and dug in as I let my mind wander.

Grillby was lucky, as far as slavery went.

He had a good job and a little apartment over the bar, which meant he rarely had to leave the premises. No worry of a passing thug attacking him for being a monster, no exposure to inclement weather. Once he finished with work he just walked up the stairs and was home.

He seemed to be mostly at ease with his life, with what he did, and he always seemed to care and actually listen when I went off on a rant.

And rant I did. I complained about monster rights - or lack thereof. I whined about my social media efforts not taking off like I had hoped. Failed protests, botched meetups. I cried about my messed up mother and messed up family, and about how awful the world could be.

Grillby was a good listener. I almost considered him my friend.

He was, I realized with a start, the closest thing I _had_ to a friend.

I wondered if he considered _me_ to be a friend.

I sighed as the nagging little voice in the back of my head reminded me that he was _forced_ to be friendly. I wasn’t special, I was just another of Apollo’s many customers, giving money to the man who _owned his life_.

I shoved the voice aside and tallied Grillby in my mental “friends” category. I hoped the feeling was mutual, although part of me (a _not insignificant_ part of me) assumed otherwise.

I shook my head, dispelling my thoughts as they started going to darker places, and I finished my fries as I bussed my counter area. Seeing I was finished, Grillby came over to hand me the bill, but I had the cash out already.

Cost of the meal and a generous tip, as always.

I knew the fire monster earned nothing from his work, and the only income he had came from tips, which weren’t guaranteed. If Apollo saw them, he forced Grillby to hand them over, usually with some excuse about how it had been “a hard month for business.”

I’m pretty sure _everyone_ knew exactly what a load of shit that was.

The monster nodded a farewell and thanks as he slid the tip into his vest’s inner pocket before returning to work.

I paused at the door and braced myself to make the hour drive to see my mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: A visit with family.


	3. The Lapine Maid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family visit goes awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: Mentions OF HOMOPHOBIA, RACISM (BOTH REAL AND FANTASTICAL), AND TRANSPHOBIA. VAGUE DISCUSSION OF PAST ABUSE, AMBIGUOUS THREATS.
> 
> Given the theme of this story, I am _not_ going to tag references to slavery as a trigger. That's the story, it's gonna come up a lot.

My mother and I have a complicated relationship.

Granted my mother has a “complicated relationship” with the entire world.

Untreated narcissism will do that to a person.

The woman had driven away all my older siblings for one reason or another.

My eldest brother had been kicked out a month before his eighteenth birthday when he came out as gay.

The next oldest brother had married a “girl with no class.” She was a young woman who came from a working class family and had more melanin than mommy dearest thought appropriate. My brother brought his then-fiancée to Thanksgiving once, and that was the last time I had seen either of them.

Then there was my sister, who you would think would be the most beloved child. She was a successful lawyer who fought for kids who had no one else in their corner. She had married a man who was successful in his own right. He had been lucky enough to join a massively popular tech company early on. Together they had two wonderful, well-behaved kids. She was the _epitome_ of every mother’s dream for her children.

Too bad my sister had been assigned male at birth. Mom still dead named and misgendered her every time we spoke.

Then there was the brother who just … left. One day he had been there and the next he was gone. No goodbye, no forwarding address. Just gone. I didn’t understand why. As far as I could tell he had been the favorite child who could do no wrong.

He was _still_ the golden child, being the only one my mother _didn’t_ complain about.

Five children, and only I still talked to her. But it wasn’t _her_ fault. No, of course not. _We_ were the ones in the wrong.

 _I_ would have stopped visiting her too, if my morals and guilt would let me. I knew that if I stopped visiting she wouldn’t have anyone and that bothered me. I didn't think she deserved to be completely alone.

Despite everything, she was still my mom. I still loved her.

When I had moved out I decided I would see her once a month, if only to make sure she was okay and didn’t need anything. I used up one of my precious days off to ensure she hadn’t died in her sleep. I would make small chat and give vague updates about my siblings.Just enough that she wasn’t curious enough to force herself into _their_ lives. I would listen to her rant and complain about how they had all turned their backs on her. How she was so lonely and unloved.

I parked in the driveway of her nice little suburban home. A quick self check in the rearview mirror to make sure I didn’t look like _complete_ garbage, and I left my car.

I knocked on the door and everything shifted.

My mother didn’t answer. Instead there was a bunny monster I had never met who opened the door in welcome.

She looked exhausted, bags under her eyes and a tired droop to her ears.

For a moment I thought I had come to the wrong house. That I had been too distracted by my thoughts and was at one of the neighbors’ homes instead. It wasn’t impossible. Mom lived in one of those neighborhoods where the houses were cookie-cutter similar. It was sometimes difficult to tell them apart.

But no. I took a step back and looked at the house number and sure enough, this was the right place. House number 442.

“You work here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and level.

The bunny woman opened her mouth to speak, but the collar blinked. She looked distressed as she nodded.

Of course she had been ordered to be quiet. Mother _liked_ quiet.

“Great. I’m the daughter, I don’t know if you’ve heard of me or not.” I said as I stepped inside. I didn’t bother to take off my jacket or messenger bag, since I knew I wouldn’t be staying. “I won’t be here long. It was nice to meet you.”

The bunny lady nodded, although I wasn’t sure if that was acknowledging what I had said, or if it was an assertion that she _had_ heard of me.

If the latter, I doubt she had heard anything _good_.

I walked into the reading room where I knew my mother would be. She was lounging on the couch with some fruity cocktail and reading what looked like a cheap thriller novel.

I leaned against the entryway and somehow kept the venom from my voice.

“I see you got a slave.”

I had long learned to be quiet in her home, so the old woman hadn’t heard me come in. My voice breaking the silence was enough to startle her into spilling her drink on her lap.

I couldn't help it as I grinned and chuckled a little, _'Serves her right.'_

“Yes,” she said as she put the glass on the side table. “I needed some help around the - ”

“You know,” I said, cutting her off as she began to clean herself off. “There are services for that kind of thing. You pay them, they clean your house or weed your garden or do _whatever_ you need. You don’t actually have to, oh I don’t know, _buy someone_.”

She huffed at me, “I know you’re pro-rights for these things - ”

“People, mother. _People_.” I spat, anger beginning to build hot in my chest. “I’m pro-rights for _people_ who _deserve_ full rights.”

Her mouth scrunched up like she had eaten a raw lemon, and she closed her book with a snap. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you right now.”

“Oh?” I said, pushing myself off the door frame. I wasn’t tall by any means, but I drew myself to my full height. I towered over her where she sat. “ _I_ don’t want to have this conversation _either_ , but _apparently_ we’re going to have to because _you bought a slave._ ”

“So? It isn’t like they’re _rare_ or anything,” she said.

I bit back a retort, measuring my breaths in an attempt to keep calm. “If I find out you have done _anything_ out of line with her - ”

The bitch brushed off my words with a derisive snort. “What will _you_ do? It’s _my_ property, I can do anything I want with it.”

“There are laws - ”

She waved a dismissive hand, cutting me off again. “I can afford a decent lawyer. _You_ can’t do anything to me.” She met my eyes with fire in her own. “ _You never could_.”

There was a challenge in those words, a challenge that brought forth memories I had buried deep long ago. Years of suppressed anger boiled to the surface and I felt my core go cold in its wake. A dangerous calm settled over me.

“Fuck. You.” I said, slowly and clearly. “Fuck you _right_ to hell.” The woman looked scandalized but I kept going, unable and unwilling to stop. “If I find out you have hurt her, _I will come for you._ I will do _everything I can_ to make sure you end up _right where you belong._ ”

I turned and stomped back to the front door, where the bunny monster was still standing. I didn’t know how much of the conversation she had heard, and I didn’t bother explaining. I rifled through my bag for the small notebook and pen I kept with me.

“I don’t know if you heard any of that,” I said, trying to blunt the edge to my voice even as I radiated fury. “If she does _anything_ , call me. Okay? I will do _whatever I can_ to help you. I promise.”

I scrawled out my phone number and tore off the paper to give to her.

She took it with a nod and opened the door for me.

“Good riddance, mother!” I shouted, then shot an apologetic look at the bunny, who had winced at my raised voice.

“Good luck, and I mean it,” I tapped the paper in her hands. “Call me if you need to.”

With that done, I shouldered my bag and walked to my car to make the hour drive back to my apartment in the city.

What a waste of a Sunday afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A question about a specific line:
> 
> "Her mouth scrunched up like she had eaten a raw lemon, and she closed her book with a snap." vs "Her mouth scrunched up in a surprisingly accurate representation of a cat's asshole, and she closed her book with a snap."
> 
> I went back and forth SO MANY TIMES with this, and I'm curious which people like better. I went with the lemon one as it is ... less crude and gross. But I like the visual of the CBF (Cat Butt Face), which is a term I learned from a subreddit dealing with toxic family members. It's just so evocative to me.
> 
> \---
> 
> Theresa has figured out, and references, a technique to use on her mother called ["Grey Rocking."](https://www.healthline.com/health/grey-rock)
> 
> While she doesn't use that technique in this chapter (as something more important came up) it is a useful thing to learn if you have toxic people in your own life.
> 
> \---
> 
> Next Time: The party gets a new member. He is not happy to be there.


	4. The Skeletal Slave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theresa's household gets a new member.
> 
> No one is happy with this development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: MILD VIOLENCE

My drive back from the suburbs was far less careful and _far_ more enraged than my drive out.

I spent most of it ranting about _exactly_ how fucked up monster - no _any_ \- slavery was. How _especially_ fucked up it was that _my mother_ now _owned a slave._

She _knew_ about my complete and utter breakdown when the slavery laws passed. She _knew_ I had cried so hard I had been throwing up. It had taken me _weeks_ to be somewhat functional again.

Fuck, I was almost _hospitalized_ it was so bad.

She knew how much of a failure I felt like because, despite my best efforts, monsters had lost their freedom. It had been the first time I had _believed_ in a cause. The first time I had put all my energy into a battle worth fighting.

It was the first time I had felt _passionate_ about _anything_.

And I had failed.

People like me, who had the same principles and beliefs, had failed.

She _knew_ that.

 _She knew that and she still bought a slave_.

When I came to a red light I put my head on my steering wheel and screamed.

It was one thing to listen to her talk shit about my brothers and sister.

It was one thing to listen to her describe how _everyone_ in the world had wronged her in some way. How _she_ was the perpetual victim and she didn’t understand why.

It was one thing to listen to her spew her oppressive, bigoted bullshit.

It was on thing to have her degrade _me_. To hear her talk about how worthless I was. For her to attack me because I spoke out of turn or did something she disapproved of.

I could take that. I knew my brothers. I knew my sister. I knew the truth. We weren’t close, but I cared for them. Part of why I interacted with the bitch at _all_ was because I knew if I did, she wouldn’t seek _them_ out to feed her narcissism.

I could tune out her lies and abuse. I could ignore the snide digs that mixed painful truth with her fucked up version of reality.

I could withstand the bruises.

_Better me than them._

But … _this_ had crossed a line I hadn’t even realized she was toeing.

She had _bought_ a victim who _couldn’t_ fight back. Someone with no choice, no agency, _nothing_ to hold on to or do in hopes of improving her situation.

It was a step too far. A betrayal of everything I believed and cared about.

I turned into the parking structure across the street from my apartment. Hands aching and knuckles white from my death grip on the steering wheel.

Another bridge burned. Another relationship destroyed.

It hurt less than I expected.

I pulled into my usual parking spot - top floor, middle of the top row, nearest the road.

I could see my car from my apartment windows. It let me make sure nothing was wrong when I woke up in a panic at three in the morning to car alarms.

It was a small comfort.

I slammed my car door and jammed my keys into my jacket pocket before looking up at my apartment building.

I didn’t want to go home.

I was _fuming_. I didn’t want to risk putting a hole in my wall if I let myself wallow in rage, and I knew I wasn’t ready to let go of the anger yet.

So when I descended the stairs of the parking garage I turned away from my apartment and headed toward Solar’s

I deserved _at least_ one drink to help me process the little piece of horrible that had fallen into my life.

 _My mother owned a slave_.

As I walked the familiar route I noticed I was feeling light headed. Visual snow began to gather at the edges of my vision and my ears filled with the buzz of static.

As if this day wasn’t horrible enough, I had a migraine coming.

Trying to ignore the onset I kept stomping my way down the street muttering curses under my breath.

I shut out the world, my vision tunneling to focus only on the sidewalk in front of me.

I dodged other pedestrians, weaving around people as they went about their day.

I was almost in the middle of the crowd when I realized what I had stumbled into

There was an old man shouting profanity and wildly swinging a cane at a smaller hooded figure. The hoodie was doing their best to dodge but they were unsteady on their feet, taking longer and longer to regain their balance.

The old man swung his cane and the smaller target danced backwards out of the way but they overbalanced. I saw someone put a leg out, tripping them.

The figure fell.

I heard the _pop_ of something over the crowd as they landed.

It was a sound I recognized.

Their wrist was either dislocated or broken. Likely the latter.

Then I noticed something else. The fall had knocked off their hood.

That wasn’t a human.

 _That …_ was a skeleton.

The old man shouted wordlessly as he swung the cane again.

The skeleton scrambled backwards, avoiding the blow but putting more weight on the injured wrist.

I winced in sympathy, beginning to step forward to try to intervene.

“Stay still and _take it_!” The old man screamed as he began to raise his cane again.

The skeleton’s collar blinked red.

_Command accepted._

Their eye sockets somehow grew wider, and their expression went from defiance to fear.

All the anger and rage I felt boiled over in white hot _fury_.

Anger at my mother and how she _bought_ someone to abuse.

Frustration at the city, at the humans who decided that monsters were “beneath” us.

Disgust at the other humans around me, laughing and joking about a monster getting its ass kicked.

 _Hatred_ at the _whole damned system_ that led to the scene in front of me.

I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing. I stepped behind the old man and grabbed his cane as he raised it again, tugging it out of his grasp.

Off-balance and angry the old fuck spun around and sucker punched me.

Everything went silent as he and the crowd realized what had just happened.

I felt a wicked smile cross my face. “Well, that’s _one_ way to greet a new friend,”

I prodded the teeth on the left side of my mouth with my tongue. It didn’t _feel_ like that blow had loosened any.

Small mercies. I couldn’t afford a dentist.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket as I released his cane. He stumbled in an attempt to regain his balance.

“You calling the cops, or should I?” I asked as I flipped through my menus to find the dialer.

The old guy immediately began fumbling at his pockets.

“No! No need to call them! Here, take this!”

He pulled a couple of bills from his wallet and held them out to me.

“I don’t want your money,” I said as I made a show of dialing the first number.

“Here, fifty bucks! That’s more than fair, right?” The old man asked, holding out more money to me. I pressed another number on the keypad.

“Fine. _Fine_!” The old man shouted. “Take the money and _take him_!”

I blinked, my brain short circuiting at the offer.

“Take the money _and the skeleton_! He’s smart and house trained! Doesn’t even need to eat!”

The bastard was already holding a stack of paperwork out to me. I glanced down and realized it was nearly complete. Like the old man had it ready to go.

Like he had been about to …

I grabbed the folder out of his hands and read the sheet on top. I ignored the handwritten information in favor of the legalese.

It was paperwork for a transfer of ownership.

It was easier than selling a car.

There didn’t have to be a notary or witness. You could trade monster slaves around like they were fucking Pokemon. No big deal.

“Fine,” I growled, digging a pen from my bag. “Hundred dollars and the skeleton.”

“A hundred - ” the old man started to complain.

I cut him off with a stare and dramatically rubbed where he had struck me. “You know, it feels like I _might_ have a loose tooth. _Maybe_ I’ll have to go see a dentist. _Might_ need that _police report_ after all … Better make it two hundred. Just to be on the safe side.”

The old man looked like he was going to explode, but he spat out, “Fine!” as he grabbed the paperwork from me and signed it.

He held it out to me and growled, “As long as it gets _him_ off my hands.”

I signed my name on the indicated line and the old guy handed me a bunch of files and a handful of money that I didn’t want,.

Who the _hell_ carried that much cash around in this city? It was like he was _asking_ to get mugged.

Granted, now _I_ was the person carrying around that much cash.

Exchange completed, the old dude booked it down the road and the crowd began to disperse. Nothing interesting to see anymore. No slave beatings here.

The adrenaline and blinding rage began to fade as I looked at the paperwork in my hands.

The paperwork that made me the _legal owner of another person_.

The paperwork that symbolized _everything I had fought against_.

I shoved it into my messenger bag before my thoughts could spiral further and turned to my new …

Acquaintance? Surprise houseguest? Living Halloween decoration?

Definitely not that one. Ew.

Roommate?

I held a hand out to help him up and took a better look at him.

He wasn’t in great shape. He wore a tattered and stained hoodie that looked like it was falling apart around him. It was unzipped and he wore no shirt, so I could see his ribs and spine. He had on a pair of black athletic shorts that looked like they might have once been pants. Their hems were uneven and fraying.

No socks. No shoes.

He ignored my offered hand and pushed himself to his feet with his good arm. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stared at me.

I stared back.

He was shorter than me by an inch or so. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his large eye sockets which were eerie, empty black voids.

I glanced at his wrist, the one he had favored while getting to his feet. It was hidden by his pocket and sleeve, so I couldn’t see how injured it really was. I fumbled through my bag and pulled out a monster candy, which I held out to him.

“These heal injuries, right?” I asked. He didn’t answer and I sighed. “It’s for your wrist.”

He looked at me suspiciously before holding out his hand for me to drop the candy into. That taken care of, I turned my attention to where we were.

I was _not_ on my usual route to Solar’s, but I recognized the area. I must have walked by the bar without realizing it while I was ranting to myself.

I blinked in surprise as I noticed that the visual snow in my vision and the static in my ears had gone away. Huh.

Normally I would have suffered through those for hours before getting a migraine.

I shrugged and glanced at the skeleton. “I was going to get some food. You wanna come with?”

He looked at me like I was insane and I felt like he wasn’t far off.

He didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

I waved a hand at him to follow and I began to walk back the way I had come.

I tried _very hard_ to think of it like taking a friend to my favorite place to eat.

I was failing.

I felt sick.

. . . . .

Grillby wasn’t behind the counter when Bone Guy and I entered Solar’s Bar and Grill. Instead I saw Apollo’s shock of red hair as he made the rounds, going table to table.

Apollo had wanted to run a restaurant for at _least_ as long as I had known him. He said his great grandfather had made a fortune running his own cafe on the Grecian coast. Apollo claimed his destiny was to follow in his forbearer’s footsteps.

I had no idea if the story was true or not, but I _did_ know that this wasn’t _quite_ what my friend had dreamt about.

Solar’s was great. It had the right atmosphere, great food, and Grillby was a huge attraction and a skilled bartender. But it wasn’t a high-class place. It was a nice pub, but it was _still a pub_.

Apollo had hoped for something a little fancier.

“Hey, Ap,” I said as I passed behind him. I knew if I didn’t greet him it would be an invitation for him to hound me all night.

I really didn’t want to talk to Apollo.

The only person I _wanted_ to talk to was Grillby.

“Ah! Terra! _Agapité mou_!” Apollo proclaimed, dashing my hopes of a quiet night to dust. “Give me a moment and I’ll come get your order, sweetheart!”

I did my best to stop myself from grimacing and nodded, “Yeah, Ap. Sounds good.”

I led Bone Dude to the bar and put my coat and bag on the back of my usual seat.

I rubbed my cheek where the old guy had punched me. It felt like a bruise was forming. I wondered how dark it would be.

I turned to the bag of bones, “I’m going to the bathroom. Make yourself comfortable. Or whatever.”

He grunted an acknowledgement and I walked to the restrooms. I shuddered under the glare of his empty sockets on my back.

I was about to open the door to the ladies room when Grillby left the mens, mop and bucket in hand.

I stared at his flickering hand on the mop and wondered why the wooden handle wasn’t burning. Then I glanced at the bucket of dirty, soapy water.

“You sure you should be touching that stuff, Grillbz?”

He looked at me in surprise, then mimed looking at his watch and then back at me.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “It’s been … a day. One _hell_ of a fucking day. I’ll tell you after I wash up.”

The fiery bartender nodded and rolled mop and bucket into the kitchen. I glanced at the bar before going into the restroom.

The skeleton was gone.

Whatever. I’d deal with that later.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

The old man had hit my upper cheekbone. There was no bruise yet, but there _was_ a deepening redness that showed where one was forming. I touched the edges tenderly, wincing at how prominent it was going to be. I would have a black eye, as well.

A quick double check of my teeth and inner cheek and I was satisfied that I wasn’t missing or about to lose any body parts.

The damage was minimal. People would notice, but nothing was broken and I didn’t need medical attention. It wouldn’t be the first time I went to work with visible injuries.

Satisfied that I would be okay I nodded to myself and washed my hands.

I tried very hard to not think about the fact that _I owned someone_.

I walked back to the dining area, finding no Bone Guy in sight. I sat down at my saved seat and pulled my jacket on.

I skimmed through social media on my phone while Grillby worked filling orders. Part of me hoped to find the video of the old menace attacking me, but it wasn’t posted anywhere that I could find. Too bad. I had sort of wanted to show Grillby my moment of bad-assery.

Bad-assery that ended with me _owning another person._

I swallowed the bile that was rising in my throat and tried to think about anything else.

Eventually there was enough of a lull that Grillby was able to take a quick break to talk. He slid a burger and fries to me while saying his designated greeting then leaned in, inviting me to vent.

“I saw my mom today,” I started.

I snorted at the way he flared at the words. He had heard enough about my mother that he understood how any story involving her was going to end badly.

“I know, I _know_. But it’s my ‘duty,’ right? As the ‘good daughter’?”

He made a huffing noise that I had learned meant he disagreed but he didn’t want to get into it right then. He motioned to my cheek.

“Oh! No, she’s innocent of _that_. That comes later in the story. Like I said - it has been _a day_. No … I went out and visited my mom and found out she bought a slave.” I shuddered and looked at my food. “I get that it’s the … ‘in’ thing to do? But she _knows_ how I _fucking feel_ about monster slavery. She knows how badly - ”

I cut myself off abruptly, stopping before I could finish the thought.

_She knows how badly I took the legalization of monster slavery._

It didn’t feel appropriate to complain about that to _Grillby_. A literal slave who was really only interacting with me through force.

I swallowed hard as my stomach made an uncomfortable twisting motion and I dropped my head to my hands.

“Could I get a drink? My usual?”

Grillby nodded and stepped away, leaving me to regain my composure a little.

When he came back, the bartender had both my drink and a bag of ice wrapped in a clean kitchen towel. I put the ice pack to my face and took a long pull of the alcohol, relishing the burn on my tongue and throat.

It tasted like gasoline and bad decisions, but I wasn’t drinking it for the flavor.

“Anyway,” I continued as I put the half-empty glass down. “I had _that_ wonderful surprise waiting for me when I went to visit her. Went out of my way on my day off to see her and she pulls _that_ bullshit.”

I took a deep breath in an attempt to delay the inevitable.

Grillby ran a clean towel over an already clean glass as he waited. It was a habit he had when he wasn’t doing anything else. He liked to keep his hands busy, even when he wasn’t actually _doing_ anything.

My stomach churned and I wrapped my arms around myself.

“So, yeah. Mom has a slave. Told her to go to hell. But … I can’t _really_ say _shit_ because guess what?!” I laughed, hysterical and desperate. Grillby looked at me with a concern I ignored.

He’d find out how much trash I was soon.

I downed the rest of my drink, raising the empty glass in a sardonic toast with a wild smile on my face.

“I have a slave now, too!” I proclaimed, uncertain if I was about to laugh or cry.

I wanted to do both.

Both seemed good.

Grillby dropped the glass he had been cleaning. Fortunately it landed on the rubber drying surface of his sink area, so it didn’t shatter. The dull thud made me wince.

“Yeah,” I said softly, putting my empty glass down and staring at it as I curled in on myself again. “It’s just … ”

I took a deep breath and let the words out of me as I fought back hysterics. My chest felt tight, like if I didn’t talk to someone about what happened I would crack and shatter all over the bar.

“There was this fight on the street and this guy was getting his ass kicked and _nobody was doing anything_! They were just watching and filming and _laughing_! Then I saw that it was a _monster_ getting his ass kicked by a human and … and then the human used a _command_ and I … just … I stepped in without thinking about it? And the old guy decked me, that’s where I got _this_ , and then he gave me the monster so I wouldn’t press charges for assault and Grillby I don’t know what happened but _now I own someone_.”

I dropped my head to the table, feeling like I was going to start sobbing. Grillby stepped away and I shuddered as I felt my eyes water.

_He must hate me now._

He returned and placed a glass by my head before returning to cleaning his glassware. I watched as he turned the tumbler in his hands like he was thinking.

“It’s … ” I pulled myself back to sitting and looked at the refilled glass, wondering if I could drown myself in it. “I … I just wanted to … to help. I was angry and I wanted to get the monster away from the abusive asshole. But … now _I’m_ the abusive asshole? But … what else can I do? I can’t _return_ the guy. I can’t … I can’t sell him like an old couch.”

Grillby made a thoughtful crackle and put the glass down. Then he picked up another and began the process again as he listened.

“I don’t want to _own_ anyone! It’s horrible. I _fought against this_. But … there’s … there’s no good option, is there?”

Grillby was silent but contemplative. I wondered if he would give me some sage bartender advice. Magic words that would make everything make sense and would make the guilt eating me up vanish.

Before he could say anything he was pulled away to help another customer, leaving me to my own thoughts.

I downed the second drink without thinking too much, enjoying the fuzz that was building in my head. I traced my finger on the counter, making shapes with the condensation from my glass.

I needed to pay before I got _too_ drunk or I would forget to make sure the fire elemental got an appropriate tip.

I noticed a refilled glass was in front of me, but Grillby was still absent. I shrugged and took a sip.

I wondered where the skeleton was. Had he taken off? Beyond the paperwork in my bag, there was nothing tying him to me. And until I submitted the paperwork, there _wouldn’t_ be.

Which gave me an idea.

I smiled as Grillby came back over, my brain in a haze of alcohol, and I stage-whispered my conspiracy to him.

“Grillbz, Grillby, Grillbyyyyy … I figured it out! How to make this _all_ okay again. I have the paperwork for that monster, right? I could just … _not submit it_! I won’t claim him as mine and he call fall through all the bureaucratic cracks! It would almost be like being free, right?”

The bartender went quiet, his flame dimming as he glanced at the empty glasses in front of me and shook his head.

“Whaaaaat?” I asked as I smiled at him. “It’s foolproof. I should know, I’m a _huge idiot_.”

Before the bartender could respond a voice spoke from close behind me, so soft it was nearly a whisper.

“Grillby?”

I jumped, almost falling off of my barstool, not expecting someone to be so close to me, so within my personal space. I turned to see the not-as-creepy-as-I-initially-thought face of the skeleton I had brought here.

 _The skeleton I owned_.

I pushed the thought aside and blinked at him. He looked … different.

The bones of his face were softer somehow, more open and less guarded and angry.

His empty eye sockets now had pinpricks of light in them. They darted around his huge sockets like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him. They were fascinating to watch and I wondered how they worked.

I realized he had spoken for the first time since I met him.

The skeleton climbed onto the bar stool next to mine, eyes never leaving the bartender. He settled into the seat like he belonged there.

He didn’t spare a glance at me.

Grillby returned the stare in open shock, the glass in his hands forgotten.

“How’d you get behind a bar again?” The skeleton asked, his voice still hushed.

“Apollo purchased me to be a bartender here,” Grillby said, his voice too loud. I could see the light of his collar blink.

Boney looked taken aback by the volume and clarity that the fire elemental spoke with. I drummed my fingertips against the countertop to get his attention.

“He has to answer direct questions vocally,” I explained. “I try to keep my questions rhetorical … or specify that he doesn’t need to be vocal some other way.”

I ignored the skeleton’s empty-eyed glare and my queasy stomach and sipped on another drink.

What number was I even on? Three? Four? I needed to pay.

I stood and stretched and pushed the plate of food at the skeleton. He looked at me, confusion obvious despite the rictus grin and dark eye sockets.

“Was old dude telling the truth when he said you didn’t need to eat?” I asked.

“He lied,” Bones said.

“Then you can have this. I’m not hungry anyway,” I said. I glanced around, making sure Apollo was nowhere to be seen. I pulled out all the cash in my wallet and held it out to Grillby.

“Hey … I trust you. Make sure you tip yourself. Keep the drinks coming, I’m gonna need them.”

Grillby pointed at the skeleton and I nodded. “He’s the one. If he wants anything, I’ll pay for that too. Just give me whatever’s left over at closing.”

The fire elemental flared a little in acknowledgement. I took my things and went to a booth to give the monsters some semblance of privacy.

I proceeded to drown myself in cheap liquor and cat memes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Time to take Boney Guy home.
> 
> \---
> 
> **Editor's Note, 9 April 2020 :** The fight scene has been rewritten to fix some errors I made initially.
> 
> The more I thought about it, the more I realized that in the first fight scene it made no sense for Sans to break his wrist. He was already on the ground, and even throwing himself backwards likely wouldn't be enough to cause a major issue. Now he falls, which I know _can_ break a wrist. All it takes is landing wrong.


	5. Mi Casa Es Su Casa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Human and the Skeleton go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: None that I am aware of
> 
> \---
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta reader [The Writing Mobster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Writing_Mobster)!
> 
> I got this chapter fully edited and ready to go a little early, and since we're all avoiding other humans I thought I'd post it early. I hope everyone is staying safe in whatever situation they're facing with the global event going on. Remember to wash your hands and don't touch your face.

I was _drunk_.

Not the most I had ever been.

I wasn’t wasted or blacked out, but I was definitely well into _drunk_ territory.

Grillby had kept my glass filled. He kept increasing the ice as he lowered the amount of alcohol. He also made sure to intersperse the liquor with glasses of water.

He was nice.

Apollo reappeared partway through the night and talked to me about nothing for an hour. Then he went away, calling me “sweetheart” and asking me to call him sometime.

He was … tolerable. Barely.

It was quarter after ten when Grillby escorted the skeleton back to the booth I had commandeered. Closing time had come and gone, but I hadn’t felt like leaving. I wanted to give Bones and Grillby time to catch up since it seemed like they knew each other.

Every time I considered leaving I remembered that Boney was a slave. A slave _I owned._

And I needed another drink to drown the guilt.

The bartender held out some small bills to me, the remains from my alcoholic binge. I waved it off as I attempted to pull myself together for the walk home.

“Keep it,” I slurred. “You need’t more’n I do.”

He flared at me, clearly disagreeing, but didn’t push. The fire elemental slid the extra cash into his vest pocket and offered a hand to help me up. I shook my head.

“ ’m fine. ’m drunk, not inv’lid.”

I could already tell I was going to have a hangover from hell in the morning, but I didn’t care. That was a problem for future me.

And future me could suck it.

 _Present_ me wasn’t feeling quite as guilty and scummy as I had before. I counted that as a win.

“ ‘lright Bone Boy. Ready t’go home?” I asked as I finally heaved myself to my feet, hoping I was at least somewhat intelligible.

The skeleton shrugged, which was as close to a “yes” as I was going to get from him.

Grillby gave the skeleton a meaningful look as I shouldered my messenger bag. I wondered what the pair had talked about while I was drowning myself in alcohol.

“G’night Grillbz,” I said, holding onto the “z” a little too long. I shot him finger guns and a wink. “See ya tom’rrow, hot stuff.”

The bartender sparked a little and his flames turned dark and red. I laughed as I turned from him and started making my way outside.

I shivered as I emerged into the deep autumn night. Stretching while I waited for Bones to say his goodbyes and join me. I took a deep breath, trying to let the crisp air sober me a little.

I had stopped drinking an hour ago and my happy buzz was fading fast. The guilt was settling back into my stomach.

I felt like trash.

“I am a trash _can_ ,” I proclaimed to the dark street and sky, raising my fists. “ _Not_ a trash _can’t_!”

I heard a snicker behind me and turned to see Bone Dude three feet away and staring at me like I had grown an extra head.

I blinked in surprise. Had I … Had I made him _laugh_?

“Fuck _yeah_ ,” I said as I dropped my arms and began the walk home.

I led the way to my apartment building, rambling incoherently as we walked. Bones walked a few paces behind me, silent and glaring at the back of my head.

My apartment building wasn’t the prettiest building on the block. The owners were an elderly couple who did their best to keep up with the demands of being landlords. But they clearly had trouble keeping everything managed.

Sometimes their daughter would stop by to help them out. She would make appointments for repairs and maintenance to the facade and outside of the building. Her visits were few and far between, so the building often looked like it was on the verge of condemnation.

She also spent most of her visits trying to get her parents to sell the place. Which would effectively evict nearly every resident.

It would certainly mean _my_ eviction.

Despite appearances the couple kept the innards of the building working beautifully. Which was far more important than the curb appeal, in my mind.

Except, of course, tonight. The capstone to my shit day: the elevator was out of order. Again.

I kicked weakly at the door, as though all it needed was a little percussive maintenance from _my_ boot. This failed to fix whatever the issue was, so I headed to the stairwell,.

“Hope you’re up for a climb, Bone Boy,” I said as I unlocked the door.

Somehow, despite being behind me when we started our ascent, the bag of bones managed to get in front of me.

Every time I got to a landing he was already there, leaning against the wall and waiting for me. I would pass him, start up the next flight, and then find him waiting on the next landing.

I didn’t think I was _that_ drunk.

Finally at my floor I opened the landing door, allowing both Bone Guy and I into the hallway. I turned and headed down the hall to my apartment.

Last door on the left.

Bone Ninja was already there, waiting for me.

I paused when I noticed him. Had I told him which apartment I lived in? I must have during my drunken rambling.

I couldn’t even remember what I had talked about on the way home.

He was leaning on the wall next to the door, glaring at me in annoyance.

I meandered over, taking my time, and put my key in the lock.

I held the door open for my new roommate.

Yeah. Keep thinking of him like a roommate. That eases the guilt a little.

“Welcome home,” I said with a wave of my hand when the skeleton hesitated to enter. I followed him in, locked the door behind us, and slid off my shoes while I let him look around.

I tried not to take it _too_ personally when he glanced back at me, like he couldn’t believe _this_ place belonged to _me._

All I could do in response was shrug.

The apartment had already been furnished when I had taken over the lease. Dining room table and chairs, a comfortable sectional sofa and coffee table, a decent TV.

All of it nice. None of it mine.

My youngest older brother had said it looked like a showroom apartment. Beautiful for photographs, but lacking signs of life. My sister said it lacked “personality.”

I disagreed with them. There was life in the garbage bag near the door, full and tied off but not yet taken out. The coffee table was home to a pile of books, dogeared and well loved. There were piles of paperwork on the dining room table, sorted into an organized chaos.

Nearly every windowsill held at least one plant.

It wasn’t _my_ fault I had the personality of the color beige.

I shook my head to clear it, pulling my thoughts back on track and bringing on a wave of nausea.

“Kitchen and living room,” I said as I walked by the skeleton and waved at him to follow me. I led him down the hallway, opening doors as I went. “Spare, office, spare, my room, bathroom, other bathroom. Pick whichever of the spares you want.”

I unlocked my own bedroom door and threw my bag and jacket onto my bed.

The spare rooms were similar. One was a little bigger and had a balcony, but no closet. The other had a closet and a small window. Both were furnished with a mattress, sheets, and pillows, but nothing else.

No one had stayed in either since before I moved in, but I kept the linens clean just in case.

I walked back into the kitchen and opened the medicine cabinet to get some pain relief for the morning. I was already sobering up and I knew I would be cursing myself when my alarm went off at four.

I was _already_ cursing myself for staying out this late and getting so drunk.

As I sorted through pill bottles I realized I had no idea if the skeleton had eaten at Solar’s or not. For all I knew he couldn’t actually eat the burger and fries I’d pushed onto him.

“Hey, Bone Dude?” I asked, voice raised to carry but not enough to annoy my neighbors.

I turned around and found myself eye to black eye sockets. I yelped and dropped the two bottles I was holding.

He was three steps behind me, staring at me.

 _That_ was going to get old _real_ fast.

I picked up the pill bottles and took a step away, reasserting my personal space. “You said the old bastard lied about you needing to eat?”

The skeleton gave a quick nod. I frowned and wondered how long he had been starving.

“What a dick,” I said simply, then I held out my hand waving at the kitchen. “Kitchen and pantry are open to you. I don’t have much, but anything I have is yours.”

I chose my pills and then turned to put the bottles back.

“ … anything?” The skeleton asked as he stared at the fridge.

I glanced at him, uncertain how to answer the question, then nodded.

“Yeah, anything,” I said. I nudged him out of the way and opened the fridge, lighting up his face. “If you use up the last of something or want anything specific, write it down for me. I’ll try to get it next time I do a grocery run. Which’ll be next Sunday. The list’s on the door.”

I grabbed a water bottle and took another peak at his expression as I pulled away.

He looked like he was in awe and those pinprick pupils were back.

I wondered how often he had access to food in the last few years.

I doubted I would like the answer.

I looked back in the fridge, taking stock of what I had available. Most of my leftovers were gone, but I knew I had the ingredients for lasagna and I could make a batch tomorrow.

“You aren’t allergic or need a special diet or anything, right?”

Bone Dude shook his head, still enamored with my nearly-empty fridge.

If he was going to keep this up my electricity bill was going to skyrocket.

“Hey,” I said, waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention. “Don’t let all the penguins out.”

He grunted but obliged and closed the door to the fridge. Then he looked around the kitchen, apparently lost.

“Make yourself at home,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle. “This _is_ your home, now.”

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, because his eyelights flickered out and he went back to glaring at me.

I sighed and pointed out cabinets and drawers. “Plates and stuff are up there, utensils are in this drawer, pots and pans are down here. This is the pantry. I only ask you clean up after yourself. I had to deal with a roach infestation a few months back and I’d _really_ rather not have that happen again,”

I frowned at the memory. It wasn’t even my fault. A neighbor had allowed an infestation to grow _so much_ that it migrated out of their apartment. My entire floor had to be fumigated to deal with it.

I’d slept in my car for three days. In the middle of summer.

It was miserable.

I motioned at the living room setup. “I don’t have much in the way of movies or anything, but I have access to some streaming accounts. Feel free to use them, but make sure you’re on _my_ account. Name is Theresa or Terra - like the Roman goddess? - but a couple might be under ‘Angel’. If any of those don’t work, let me know and I’ll figure it out.”

Bone Dude continued to stare at me and I was completely done with interaction. I picked up my water and pills and left the room.

“Goodnight Bone Butt,” I said as I walked away. “Hope you sleep well. Let me know if you need anything.”

I stopped at the bathroom to brush my teeth, checking my reflection in the mirror once more. The bruise was clear now, an angry purple-red. It hurt more, too. A dull ache that I could almost ignore, but that was ever-present.

At least I was wrong about having a black eye.

I went to my room, locking the door behind me. I dropped the pills and water on my nightstand.

I changed into my pajamas while looking at my messenger bag. The paperwork for Bone Guy (my _slave_ ) was in there, and I couldn’t decide what to do with it.

As I pulled my nightshirt over my head I decided that, like the hangover I was going to wake up with, _that_ was a problem for future me.

I hoped she would forgive me.

I plugged in my laptop, flicked off my lights, and hopped into bed. I sent a quick text message to my sister to warn her about our mother and her bullshit, then I plugged my phone in to charge.

I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Terra has to go to work.


	6. Long Days, Short Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every day is take you skele to work day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: FOOD AVERSION.
> 
> \---
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta reader [The Writing Mobster!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Writing_Mobster)

_I dreamt of nothing._

_Nothing so thick I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. There was no movement, no sensation at all. I was suffocating, but there was no need to breathe. I couldn’t see, but everything was inky blackness and blinding light. I couldn’t feel, but I was being compressed and pulled apart all at once._

_I dreamt of_ everything _._

_Hands made of shadow and ink reaching for me. Grabbing and grasping, trying to catch me, only to phase through my arm, shirt, body. Faces oozed in and out of existence, their mouths open in unheard screams that were too loud._

_I saw -_

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_

It was too early for _anyone_ to be awake.

I rolled over with a groan and hit the “snooze” button on my alarm clock, glaring at the glowing time display.

Four hours of sleep was _not_ enough.

I considered calling in sick to my first job, claiming I had the flu or something. Getting a full night’s sleep would definitely help my hangover.

Four oh one.

With an unhappy grunt I forced myself to sit and turned on my lamp. I closed my eyes against the light before it could sear into my dark-adjusted pupils and make my head throb.

As my vision adjusted I grabbed my pills and threw them back, swallowing them dry. I broke the seal of the water bottle, and drank the entire thing to chase the medication.

No time to waste, I needed to start my day.

I climbed out of bed and looked for clean clothes.

My organizational system was not working as well as I thought.

I eventually found a pair of jeans and a tee that I was reasonably certain were clean and I made my way to the bathroom.

I checked the bruise in the mirror, happy to notice that it wasn’t as prominent as I had feared. It was dark but it was small enough that I would probably avoid having coworkers ask about it.

I stripped and took a quick shower, water near scalding. Towel off, clothes on, and into the kitchen for breakfast.

My morning routine hadn’t changed in years, and I fell into a rhythm.

Two pieces of bread into the toaster, and I flipped through the news on my phone while I brushed my teeth.

The toaster pops and I spit into the sink.

I had just grabbed the first slice of bread when -

“You’re up early.”

I screamed.

I threw my toast at the unexpected and too-close voice.

It ninja-starred across my apartment.

Bone Ninja dodged. Not that he needed to, my aim was _way_ off.

I’d never be Hokage at this rate.

“Guess that bread is … toast?” the skeleton asked, looking where my breakfast had flown.

I groaned, thrown off by the break in routine. “Make a pun _that_ bad _this_ early again and _you’ll_ be toast.”

He gave a sort of half-hearted huffing chuckle.

A for Effort, I guess.

“Fuck yeah,” I muttered as I reached for the second piece of my breakfast.

I stopped as a realization hit me.

“Fuck _no_.” I spun on the skeleton, pointing and glaring at him. “I have to go to work!”

He blinked and part of my brain wondered _how_. How does _bone_ blink? How do you _blink_ without _eyelids_?

“And?” he asked.

I turned back around and grabbed the toast, tearing it roughly in half. I held out half to the skeleton while taking a bite out of the other. “I can’t leave you _here_. You’re not on the lease. I don’t even know if this place _allows_ monsters? I mean, I’m pretty sure they do … but I’m _pretty sure_ they have to be _on the lease_. And I can’t have a stranger just … in my home while I’m _gone_.”

My brain, sleep deprived and high on adrenaline, spiraled.

He could be a pyromaniac and would burn everything down. He could be a violent sociopath and set up maniacal traps. Wasn’t there some legend about monsters _loving_ puzzles and those puzzles being deadly? He would start a cult with my neighbors and work to revive some Great Old One and bring destruction on humanity from my apartment, since that was the place where the Ley lines connected this world to the next and …

He was looking at the bread I was holding out confused, not taking it and was _not_ on my train of thought.

Granted, the train had definitely left the tracks at this point.

“Hungry?” I asked, waving the half of toast a little. “Take it.”

He did and looked even more confused. I swallowed the last of my piece and washed my hands.

I needed to get back onto my routine.

I went into the bathroom to run a comb through my hair and style it enough that it wouldn’t frizz.

My brain kept going.

Shouty Old Guy had been on his way to get rid of Bones. There was an auction house somewhere near here that dealt with Monsters, and with the paperwork all filled out and just requiring a signature …

 _Why_?

He hadn’t even fought that hard when I raised the amount of money I was extorting out of him. What had he said? ‘As long as it gets rid of _him’_? Something like that.

 _What had the skeleton_ done _?_

I glanced at the skeleton as I went to my bedroom to throw my bag together. I raised my voice to keep talking to him, uncertain if he was listening or cared.

“I can’t leave you here, so you’ll have to come to work with me.” I paused as I ran through my mental list of things I’d need today. “Is that a normal thing people do? Is that even _allowed_?”

I shook my head, trying to reign in my wandering thoughts. “I don’t really have a choice until I figure all this out and I know you aren’t insane or something.”

I shouldered my bag and rushed to the kitchen.

“No offense. I just … don’t feel comfortable leaving a stranger in my home. I’m sure you’re a polite skeleton with no predilections toward the eldritch.”

I stopped to consider our interactions so far. Lots of glaring and angry silence from him, and a whole night of drunken antics from my dumb ass.

I _definitely_ had plenty of reason to believe he was polite and not evil.

I started putting together a lunch. Two water bottles from the fridge, a mental note to restock, an apple, a bag of chips.

“Hey, Boney!” I called out. He waved from the couch. I hadn’t noticed him laying there.

“Turkey or ham?” I asked as I looked at my packages of deli meat. “Have a preference?”

He shook his head and I decided on ham and cheddar. Put together the sandwich, cut it in half, add it to the bag with everything else.

Couple of granola bars and I had a lunch for champions.

“Anyway, you’re coming to work with me and hopefully I don’t end up fired. And _you_ don’t get in trouble. And everything goes great and we celebrate our newfound friendship tonight. You ready for work, Bones?”

I turned to look at him and frowned.

He was standing by the door, staring at me all black eyes and barely masked hate. His hoodie was zipped but he still had no shoes, and his athletic shorts were looking even _more_ ragged than they had yesterday.

I did some quick mental math and figured we would be able to swing by a shop between two of my jobs. I checked my bag to make sure I still had the two hundred from the old man.

Perfect. I could use it to buy the skeleton some clothes. It felt more appropriate than spending it on myself, anyway.

That meant I was carrying _a lot_ of cash, but with any luck I’d be left alone since I had a spooky scary skeleton with me.

“Hi ho, hi ho,” I said to the skeleton as I walked toward the door. He furrowed his brow at me and I blinked. “You’re … not familiar with Snow White? ‘Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go?’ ”

Another shrug and I remembered he hadn’t had much time to explore the surface before … well, before. I held the door open for him.

“Gonna have to marathon all the Disney classics, then,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

. . . . .

My first job was one of my closest places of employment. Maintenance on the lines at a factory, then quality assurance testing earbuds. Unfortunately it started so early that I couldn’t take a bus, so I had to rush across part of the city on foot.

I hoped my shadowing skeleton would follow my lead as I wove through city streets and alleyways, moving at a jog. I checked on him a few times, when we passed windows and I could glance at his reflection, or when there was a fence to jump.

Somehow he kept up with me, despite walking at a leisurely pace, hands in hoodie pockets.

Impressive, but it only added to the terror I felt from his blank glare.

As we got the warehouse I pulled out my phone to check the time. A little before five. Right on time.

I sought out my foreman. He was the son of someone important and he got the position through nepotism rather than merit. At least, that was my theory. He wasn’t a _bad_ manager, he was actually one of my better bosses. He did his best to treat everyone humanely and was humble enough to ask for help when he was in over his head.

He was often in over his head.

I found him in his office and explained that I had someone with me as I clocked in.

He was about to argue when he saw that “someone” in the doorway.

“Oh, a monster. Strange for _you_ to have one,” he said and I felt my cheeks redden with shame. “If that’s it, then it’s fine, Just don’t let it mess up the line. If it breaks anything it’ll come out of _your_ paycheck,”

“Of course.” I nodded and he dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

I spent the next hour doing maintenance. Fixing minor issues and wear and tear on the line, ensuring everything would run smoothly.

Officially I didn’t do this job. The maintenance guys were overwhelmed and the owners wouldn’t hire more people. “Everything works fine, why do we need more mechanics and engineers?”

Somehow the overnight maintenance guy learned I was all-but-certified to do some of the work. He worked out a deal with the foreman and I was asked to come in an hour early. I would then take care of some of the easy, routine tasks each morning.

It sucked, I missed the hour of sleep, but I needed the money.

I had nearly finished when my first coworker arrived.

She was a college girl, working her way through school. She was studying something in the hard sciences or maybe mathematics. Astrophysics or Cosmology or something. I wasn’t really sure. She was a sweetheart, and had made me a cupcake for my last birthday.

Her name started with an H. Hannah or Heather or something.

She stopped short when she saw the skeleton sitting on the ground near me.

“Who is this?!” She asked, somewhere between a shout and a screech. She looked between Boney and me a few times. “ _You_ have a _monster_? Since _when_?”

I sighed and finished tightening the nut I was working on before pulling myself to my feet.

“Yesterday through a series of unfortunate events. He’s … ” I stopped short.

I never asked his name.

He spent all day with me and had slept in my apartment and I _owned him_ and I had _no idea what his name was_.

“He … He’s my bodyguard,” I finished, the lie sounding lame on my tongue.

“Oh! You _do_ live in a rough area, don’t you? Well, I understand. Sometimes we have to compromise on our values so we can survive, right?” She gave a casual shrug as she walked away. I couldn’t help but shudder under the judgement in her tone.

I methodically put my tools back into place in their toolbox.

“Hey, Bones.” I said as I finished. Even without looking at him I could feel his eye sockets on my back and I knew they were black voids. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the uneasiness in my stomach, and not looking at him as I sorted my thoughts.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been acting like a very good person.”

I took a deep breath and spun around, holding a filthy hand out to him. I plastered a big smile on my face.

I tried not to feel the weight of my guilt.

“Hi. My name is Theresa Navarro. It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

The anger and hatred dropped from his face for a moment, replaced by a flicker of surprise. He glanced between my outstretched hand and my face, trying to see how sincere I was being.

After a lifetime he took my hand.

“Sans,” he said, voice soft and edged with confusion. “Sans the Skeleton.”

I shook his hand once then let it go and grabbed the toolbox to return it.

“Nice to meet you, Sans,” I said as I turned away. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

I had the impression that few of his owners had bothered to learn his name.

I returned the tools and told the maintenance guy about an issue on one of the lines that I couldn’t fix.

Then it was time to start what I had actually been hired to do. Four hours of mindless drudgery.

Quality Assurance testing for earbuds was an exceptionally basic process. Plug the headphones in. Make sure they scream like a computer being murdered. Then wrap them up and send them down the line to packaging.

It was easy, boring, and paid next to nothing, but it was stable.

Sans watched as I worked, sitting where he wasn’t interfering with the line or my coworkers. Some employees glanced our way as they came in to start their shifts, but no one said anything to me.

Most people didn’t seem to notice or care about the monster in the room.

After an hour of watching me the skeleton apparently got bored and he came over to help. He wrapped the cables after I tested them and my productivity improved immensely. I was grateful for the help, but I worried how it would mess up my numbers.

I only hoped I wouldn’t be expected to do the work of two people every day.

We passed the time in silence, working side by side until my phone buzzed in my pocket, letting me know it was time to go. I checked in with my manager and clocked out. Then I headed across the street to the overgrown park where I usually ate my first lunch.

It was more an empty lot than a park, but there were benches to sit. Most people ignored the area and it was mostly used by the homeless or the drug addicted. This time of day it was empty, and as long as you watched where you stepped -

I stopped just short of stepping off the sidewalk.

“Hey, Sans?” I asked. I gave him a moment to respond and sighed when he didn’t. “Can you catch human diseases?”

He gave me a weird look, confusion and curiosity plain on his boney face. I waved at the lot, “This park sometimes has used needles and stuff around. I don’t want you getting Monster AIDS or hepatitis or something.”

He looked down at his bare, skeletal feet and shrugged. “No.”

“I guess not having a liver probably helps,” I said, mostly to myself. I considered my options. I looked at his feet, then at the park, and then turned away and headed toward my next job. There was a nicer park by the hotel and neither of us would have to watch out for dirty needles or used condoms.

At one point I had one of those fitness trackers, a gift from my sister. She had tried to get everyone in the family to join together in a friendly fitness competition. Just some nice family bonding.

It ended within a week when everyone realized how _much_ I traveled by foot. No one realized that I crossed the city multiple times _every day_. One of my brothers called me a cheater and the competition was dropped.

It was just as well since I lost the tracker a few weeks later. I had put it with my stuff in my locker one day and it had vanished like magic. I never did figure out which coworker stole it.

I led the way to the park and sat down on one of the benches near the playground. I handed a water bottle to the skeleton, along with half the sandwich, and then offered either apple or chips.

He chose chips.

I crunched the apple and people watched.

Or rather, skeleton watched.

Sans was leaning against a tree, watching the little kids on the playground. There was an almost soft expression on his face.

The pinpricks of light were back in his eyes.

I remembered the kid from the news stories, the one who had freed the monsters from the Underground. I couldn’t remember their name.

I assumed Sans didn’t know them. There were something like a million monsters in the Underground. Only a handful had interacted directly with the human child. I wondered if thee was any folklore or legends about the kid. Stories passed around the refugee camps in the early days on the Surface.

I couldn’t figure out how to ask Sans about them.

“I’ve got four hours here, then a couple hours as a sort of lunch break,” I said after I finished my apple. I threw the core at a trash can. I missed. I sighed and stretched. “There’s a strip mall a block or two from here. We should have enough time to stop there and get you some clothes.”

Sans said nothing, which I had come to expect. I threw the apple core into the trash and considered my remaining half of the lunch with a frown.

I was hungry.

I _really_ didn’t feel like eating.

I glanced back and saw that Sans seemed to be waking up. Apparently the skeleton could sleep standing up. What a useful skill.

“Want some more sandwich? I’m not gonna eat it,” I said as I packed everything up.

“You keep feeding me,” the skeleton noted. “Trying to fatten me up?”

I laughed, “Yeah, you’re too skinny. I can see your _ribs_.”

He snorted in response as he took the other half of sandwich.

“Fuck yeah,” I said with a grin. I pointed at the building we were heading to, “Time for job number two.” I waved my hands in mock excitement. “Housekeeping. Yay.”

As we entered the hotel lobby I pointed to some of the plush couches and asked Sans to wait for me there. I headed into the employee area and put my belongings in one of the little half lockers.

This was one of my nicer jobs. The pay was okay and the conditions weren’t horrible. I had a safe place to keep my things while I worked, I didn’t have to work with people, and the whole place was air conditioned. It was also incredibly unlikely that I would get injured.

It was better than a lot of other options.

I changed into my work outfit and threw my regular clothes into the locker with my bag. As I clocked in I explained that I had a monster with me to one of my managers. Like before I was told as long as he didn’t distract me or cause damage it was fine.

And any damage he _did_ cause would come out of my paycheck.

I left the employee area to collect Sans. He took one look at my outfit and damn near pissed himself laughing. The bones of his face were tinted blue.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, _numbskull_.” I growled in good nature.

It wasn’t like I particularly _enjoyed_ cosplaying as a French maid to clean hotel rooms, but a job was a job.

“C’mon,” I said, motioning for him to follow me. “We have rooms to clean.”

I spent the next four hours playing maid. I stripped beds and replaced linens. I vacuumed, swept, and mopped. I scrubbed toilets and showers.

Meanwhile, Sans sat in various hotel room chairs and watched. He was occasionally taken over by a fit of giggles and I would roll my eyes.

I did look pretty dumb in this getup.

Eventually I gave him my phone and charger. I wanted him to have something to do besides watching my every move.

By the end of my shift I was hot, sweaty, annoyed, and more than ready to be back in my regular clothes.

I told my manager which rooms I had completed and which were unfinished. There were only two. One was a disaster that was _way_ higher than my pay grade and I thought would need a biohazard team to get it back to normal. The other was locked from the inside and _obviously_ occupied.

I clocked out and changed back into my normal attire.

It was so much nicer to be in a tee-shirt and jeans.

I met up with the skeleton in the lobby and led the way to the shopping center.

I was starving.

I didn’t want to eat.

Sans needed shoes.

. . . . .

I normally only shopped at thrift stores, but I had learned a long time ago not to buy thrift store shoes.

Cheap shoes were more expensive in the long run.

I led the way to a discount shoe store. New shoes, half the price. Mostwere the perfectly reasonable shoes … if they had been black or white. Instead their designer had chosen the most garish colors and patterns.

Most of these shoes were abominations to the eye.

Sans found a pair of pink and white sneakers that fit his boney feet well. I chuckled at the color choice, but he seemed happy with them, so I was too. At least his shoes looked _normal_.

I grabbed a bag of socks and we paid and left. No bag necessary since he was wearing the shoes out.

I debated between the thrift store and Solar’s before settling on the latter. Getting Sans clothed was important, but I needed to try to get _some_ food in me for my next job.

“Food, then fashion,” I said and I led the way to the bar.

Around three thirty we walked into Solar’s and I learned that my stomach did _not_ appreciate the idea of food.

I walked up to the counter and sat in my usual spot, giving a tired wave to Grillby. My short night was catching up to me.

“Heya hot stuff,” I said with a smile as I lay my head on the counter. I giggled as he flared red.

“Welcome to Solar’s Bar and Grill, can I get you anything to start with?” Grillby asked and we pretended he didn’t.

I glanced at the skeleton beside me. “You gonna order?”

“I’m broke,” he said as he returned the look. His pupil lights were back.

I snorted, “So am I. People still gotta eat. If you’re hungry, get something.”

He paused and I hoped that I hadn’t just issued a command.

I had figured out Grillby’s commands and their limitations through trial and error. But was it different when the speaker was also the _owner_?

I put my hand on my stomach in an attempt to ease my sudden queasiness.

I wasn’t certain how the collar understood what a command was. Was it the literal words used, or was the tone of voice important? Was it somehow the speaker’s _intent_? I had heard somewhere that intent was very important to monsters. That it could effect their magic in a lot of different ways.

I dug into my bag for my notebook to write down a reminder. I needed to read up on this.

“How about a burg?” Sans asked. It almost sounded like he was asking for permission. My appetite shrank further.

“Great! Eat mine, I’m not hungry.”

Sans gave me a _look_ , which Grillby apparently took note of.

I ignored them both.

Grillby pushed my drink to me, and I took a swig of it gratefully. The alcohol burned in all the right ways and I started to feel a little better.

Then the burger and fries appeared and I pushed them to the skeleton, taking a couple of fries as I did.

“Thirsty?” I asked, lifting my drink.

The skeleton got a mischievous look in his eye then said in a voice meant to carry, “I’d ask for water but Grillby doesn’t - ”

“Shouldn’t touch the stuff!” I finished with him, laughing. “I thought of that yesterday!”

Grillby made a cracking huff, which set me off laughing even harder. I took another couple fries and waggled them at him.

“Oh, c’mon. _That_ was a good one,” I said with a smile. “Anyway, seriously Sans, do you want something? There’s a magic machine over there that will give you almost anything your … uh … heart? desires.” I waved at the fountain drink machine and Grillby proffered a glass to the skeleton.

Sans took the glass and wandered over to fight with the touch screen on the machine. I wondered if he could do it without fingertips.

I turned back to Grillby, “You and Sans knew each other before, right?”

I tried to make it more a statement than a question.

The fiery bartender looked surprised, but nodded. “… lived in the same town,” he said, his voice crackling softly.

“Neighbors,” I said with a nod. I looked back over at the skeleton, then sighed and finished off my drink. “I’m in over my head, Grillbz.”

The bartender was silent. I assumed that meant he agreed. Now that the adrenaline, anger, and anxiety from yesterday was out of my system I just felt sad. Defeated. Like I had made a terrible mistake.

 _“Sometimes we have to compromise our values to survive.”_ But what about when it wasn’t about _survival_? What if it was a selfish need to … Protect? Help one of millions? Not feel like the worst person imaginable?

“ … you’ll manage,” Grillby said softly. He put the check down next to me and I fumbled in my bag for my wallet. “ … stay determined.”

I chuckled and tried to mask my expression as I handed him my payment. I didn’t want him worrying about me, not when he had so many other concerns.

“Oh! Sorry Flame-bo, but times have been a bit tough,” a rough, booming voice said from behind me.

Too close.

I winced, grabbing the barstool to keep myself from jumping at the intrusion into my personal space.. Apollo reached over me to take the money from Grillby. He counted out what I owed then took the tip for himself.

I glared at his retreating form. “Asshole.”

I sighed and pulled my wallet back out. I still had a little backup money, my spare cash in case something happened.

I looked around, making sure the greedy bar owner wasn’t around, then held out some of what I had.

“It isn’t as much, but it’s what I got,” I said, voice thick with apology.

The bartender made a move to reject my offer, but I insisted. He took it gratefully before hiding it in his waistcoat pocket.

We didn’t end up leaving Solar’s until an hour later. I had decided it was more important for Sans to have a friendly conversation than making sure he had shirts. He was pretty well covered up in the hoodie when he kept it zipped.

We could get him some shirts in the next week.

My last job of the day was stuffing envelopes for some political campaign that I didn’t care about. I got to sit down and the biggest risks were either a sore back or a paper cut.

I ended the day with a lot of paper cuts.

It was nearly ten by the time I was done, well past the time I could go cutting through back alleys without fear. So I hopped on the bus to my apartment, Sans close behind me, and I paid the fare for us both out of his money. I made a note that I owed that fund some money.

We rode in silence. Him all blank eyes and rictus smile, me doing my best to ignore the other passengers.

Then we walked the two blocks to my apartment in silence.

Then up the stairs in silence because the elevator was still out of order.

I had a feeling that Sans was not very talkative.

Or he didn’t like me, which was entirely reasonable and most likely.

Sans all but vanished as soon as he stepped through the front door.

I slipped my shoes off just inside the door and looked at my kitchen. I still needed to make dinner.

I sighed and went to collect ingredients.

Noodles, cheap canned marinara, cheese.

Lasagna was one of the easiest dishes I knew and it kept well. I made it a lot and it was all I would eat for weeks.

While I was waiting for the water to boil I pulled out my laptop.

I had to actually tell the government that I was a _slave owner_ and get the paperwork filed. I also needed to email the property manager and get Sans on the lease as a permitted resident.

I wanted to research how the collars processed commands, too. I didn’t want to unintentionally use a command on Sans.

I worked on everything while I cooked, sighing every time I caught sight of my clock.

After I pulled the lasagna out of the oven I took a small slice for myself. I left a slice for Sans on the counter before packing the rest into the fridge.

“Sans, there’s some lasagna if you want it,” I called out as I passed the spare rooms, uncertain which he had chosen. “I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.”

I locked my door behind me and sat on my bed to eat and continue my research.

I glared at my alarm clock with an angry sigh.

There were never enough hours in the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: It's a mystery
> 
> \---
> 
> Terra's dream comes from an actual experience I had as a teenager. At one point I was prescribed an anti-depressant at too high a dose. Aside from making me _extremely_ anxious, this medication (at the dosage I was given) caused me to have hypnogogic hallucinations. As I fell asleep I would see black hands reaching out to grab at me, and I would see faces come in and out of existence.
> 
> It was surreal and unnerving, even though I knew it was a hallucination. Fortunately I got onto a different medication quickly, and the hallucinations stopped as soon as I was off of that one.
> 
> \---
> 
> Depression and ADHD are kind of ganging up on me lately. My depression is causing a lot of anhedonia and a lack of motivation, and ADHD has been throwing off my routines. I don't think it's in response to anything, just normal cycles.
> 
> I am caught up to where I had pre-written. I have a LOT more plotted out, but I need to sit down and write the rough drafts for the next bit. I should have a new chapter up by next Sunday, if not sooner, but if I disappear for a bit that's why.


	7. Sans Interlude: First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans meets Theresa, a chapter of some events from his point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: Nothing you haven't seen yet - violence ending with a moderate injury, discussion of starvation
> 
> \---
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta reader [The Writing Mobster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Writing_Mobster)!

When it came to humans, Sans hadn’t expected much.

After living life on repeat at the hands of a human child he didn’t have the greatest opinion of the species. Four years of living on the Surface hadn’t improved his opinion.

Monsters were made of love, hope, and compassion.

Sans had a theory that humans were made of greed, suspicion, and fear.

Or maybe he was just lucky and got all the shit ones.

His current owner, an angry old man who had wanted a babysitter in for his retirement, was dragging him to an auction house. He kept ranting about what a useless waste of space the skeleton was.

Sans followed with his hoodie up and bare skeletal feet scuffing along the hard pavement.

“Why I ever wasted money on you in the first place … ” the old man growled.

He had been ranting for the last fifteen minutes, winding himself into an angry frenzy.

“S’not my fault you spent your money on trash,” Sans snarked.

The old man snapped.

It was a good thing Sans paid more attention to his surroundings than people thought.

It was an _especially_ good thing he was excellent at dodging.

The old man whipped his cane at where Sans had been, missing the skeleton as he jumped out of the way. The monster thought that would be it, but the old man’s anger wasn’t going to let them disengage.

The old man began to swing his cane around like a club, trying to catch Sans with it.

A crowd began to gather.

Sans wasn’t surprised.

Humans surrounded the dueling pair, pulling out cellphones, laughing and joking. Sans thought he could hear someone taking bets.

Most of them were against him.

One thing Sans had learned quickly on the Surface was that humans did not fight fair. They didn’t take turns, they didn’t wait for their opponent to summon an attack or block.

Not that the skeleton could summon an attack against a human anyway. The _collars_ prevented it.

All he could do was dodge, and he couldn’t dodge forever. He was already reaching his limit, his energy and magic low.

He ducked a swing and danced back a few steps.

He ran into a leg that wasn’t there when he started his retreat.

Another way humans didn’t fight fair: It was rarely a one-on-one fight when a human was attacking a monster.

The skeleton fell.

He put his hands out to catch himself, but the ground wasn’t there. He landed on the edge of the sidewalk and couldn’t compensate for the extra foot of air.

His weight landed heavily on his wrist, which twisted and buckled under him.

He felt it snap under the stress.

He hissed through his teeth, trying to keep his face neutral through the pain.

He couldn’t deal with an injury right now. He had to get back up, keep dodging.

The emotion in the crowd shifted from entertained to vengeful. Cheers and good natured heckling turned to jeers and calls for violence against him.

His hood had fallen back. Many in the crowd were just realizing he wasn’t some punk kid.

He was a _monster_.

He tried to ignore them.

He had to dodge until the old guy ran out of steam. Then they could keep going to the auction house and Sans could be traded away.

Maybe he’d actually end up with someone tolerable.

“Stay still and _take it_!” The old man screamed.

Sans hadn’t expected _that_.

He felt the collar accept the command. His control over his own body was overridden. Every joint went stiff, locking him in place.

His magic, his very _essence_ was torn from his control and he became a passenger in his own body, unable to move.

The old man raised his cane.

It was a waking nightmare. Sleep paralysis turned to eleven, made worse by the fact that it was _real_.

Sans’ mind _screamed_ at him to do something, anything.

Attack.

Dodge.

Block.

 _Move_.

His mind fought against his locked body.

All he could do was watch as the cane reached its zenith.

He let his vision go dark, not wanting to see his death coming.

True death, this time. No saves, no resets. No waking up in his room in Snowdin, safe and whole.

 _Such a_ stupid _way to die_.

Sans hadn’t expected _help_.

The sound of flesh against flesh.

Another shift in the emotion of the crowd.

No pain.

Sans looked and found the old man had turned his back to the monster.

He didn’t understand.

_How was he still alive?_

A voice, rough and feminine and filled with mirthless laughter.

“Well, that’s _one_ way to greet a new friend.”

Sans listened to the exchange in confusion. Slowly, painfully slowly, he began to realize what had happened.

The feminine voice had intervened. She had been attacked in his stead. Now they were arguing about police and assault.

As the old man’s intent shifted from controlling the skeleton the command eased. Sans was able to move again.

He didn’t pull himself to his feet, instead shifting to get more comfortable as the exchange took place.

Why stand when he didn’t need to?

He wasn’t sure his legs could hold him at the moment anyway.

He was shaking hard enough that his bones were rattling. He had come close to death before, he had _died_ before (in another time, in a world that no longer existed).

The adrenaline of near death was always overwhelming.

He reached for his magic, reassuring himself that it was still there. That it would still respond to him.

That even if the collar could tear it from him it would come back.

He tried to tell himself he wouldn’t always be helpless.

He focused on breathing.

His rattling eased until he was only shivering slightly. His bones no longer imitated maracas.

“Take the money _and the skeleton_!” The angry man shouted. Sans looked up, surprised by his sudden inclusion in the conversation. 

The old man had turned to point at him, and he could see the girl who had saved his boney ass.

She was a young adult, maybe in college, with short dark hair and large dark eyes. She was dressed plainly, wearing a hoodie similar to his own. Old, rough around the edges, well worn and well loved.

And if looks could kill, the old man would have long since passed on. The girl practically _radiated_ hatred and anger like heat as she glared at him.

He seemed oblivious to her mood. He had pulled a folder of paperwork from his briefcase and was holding it out to her.

Sans snorted as he recognized the papers. Another street transfer.

It wasn’t the first time he had been traded like a baseball card. It wouldn’t be the last.

Honestly, this was preferable to being stuck in an auction house. Those places were depressing.

Sans looked at the girl, sizing her up. He wondered how long she would last with him.

Older folk tended to keep him around longer. Their age granted them the patience and mulish determination to put up with the worst of his bullshit. They wanted to _prove_ something. _Force_ him to _submit_.

Giving him up would mean defeat.

Younger people didn’t last as long.

Sans gave the girl a week, tops, before she did the exact same thing the old guy had been on his way to do. Selling the skeleton off to an auction house or a dealer, getting him out of her hair forever.

College Chick was his sixth owner in a month.

A new personal record.

. . . . .

Sans sat at the bar, eating fries and a burger that weren’t _quite_ as great as what he ate at Grillby’s. They were still the best thing he had eaten in _months_.

It didn’t hurt that it was the first food he had eaten in well over a week.

The skeleton and the elemental talked about better days. They reminisced about Snowdin. Recounted the story of how the kid saved everyone.

Remembered the hope everyone had when monsters had finally, _finally_ reached the Surface.

 _Remembered his own hope when he realized that_ this _time it was going to last._

They caught each other up on friends from the Underground, although there wasn’t much to share.

Muffet was nearby, working in a bakery.

Alphys had been missing for years. There was still no information about where she had gone.

Undyne was missing and a fugitive. Wanted, dead or alive.

Asgore and Toriel had both disappeared. Both presumed dead.

Frisk had vanished.

They spoke around the truth. Neither wanted to ask about the most important people in their lives.

It was Sans who finally broke the trance.

“That circus … ” he started, voice soft. Grillby’s flamed dimmed, knowing the question on his friend’s mind. “Paps was there too, right?”

The fire elemental nodded, but looked away. “ … I don’t know where he is now.”

Sans gave a half hearted chuckle and a resigned shrug, laying his head on his arms. “Didn’t think you would. … Figured it might be worth it to ask.”

The pair were silent for a moment, then Sans asked, “What about Pyre?”

“I don’t know,” Grillby said with a sigh. “I can only hope she’s safe.”

The skeleton nodded in grim understanding. That was all he could do with Papyrus.

That was all anyone who had lost their family to the Slavery Act could do. Hope their missing loved ones were safe. Hope they would meet again.

Hope they would live long enough to see one another.

The bartender was pulled away by other customers, leaving Sans to sit and think.

He was still in shock.

He had come _way_ too close to dying. He was rescued like a damsel by some college kid who now _owned_ him.

That same kid had dragged him to a dive bar where he found one of his oldest friends. A friend he hadn’t seen in years.

He looked at his wrist, fully healed from the monster candy.

Why did she _have_ monster candy? Did she already have a monster at home?

College Chick wandered back up to the counter, causing Grillby to return to refill her drink. Sans tried to figure out how much she had already had, but with Grillby watering it down he wasn’t certain.

All he knew was she was wasted.

He hoped she didn’t get like this every night.

Drunk humans were incredibly stupid. He had more than his fair share of being dragged into their nonsense.

As she wandered away, sipping her drink and giggling at her phone, Sans pointed a thumb at her.

“What’s up with her?”

Grillby sparked a little in surprise, then thought about his response.

“ _She is a good person,_ ” he eventually signed.

“A good person who accepted a slave off the street,” Sans said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“ _A good person who wanted to_ help _you,”_ Grillby responded.

“Didn’t need help,” the skeleton grumbled. The bartender flared a little, not believing him for a moment.

 _“Give her a chance,”_ Grillby said. _“She’s not a bad person. She’s helped me.”_

Sans raised an eye at that, wondering how the girl could have possibly _helped_ the elemental.

The cynical part of him helpfully added that she obviously hadn’t helped _enough_. Grillby still had that stupid fucking collar around his neck.

The more reasonable part, almost too soft for him to notice, gently reminded him that there was only so much one person could do.

The skeleton sighed. “Fine. I’ll give her a chance. Just don’t be surprised when she sells me off in a week.”

. . . . .

Sans looked at the apartment and then back at the drunk girl who was barely keeping her balance as she took off her shoes.

It was quite the juxtaposition.

She shrugged and waved at him to follow her on a tour.

“Kitchen and living room,” she slurred with a vague wave at the open front area of the apartment. The living room had a big window on one side, which looked to lead out to an unused balcony.

College Chick opened doors as she walked down the hallway.

“Spare, office, spare, my room, bathroom, other bathroom. Pick whichever room you want.”

She unlocked her own room and disappeared inside for a moment, and Sans looked at the two spares.

Both were pretty bare bones, only furnished with a mattress on the floor.

The light pollution was horrible in Ebott City, but he could still see the brighter stars. If she wasn’t going to tell him which room he had to take, he would take the one with the balcony.

It would be nice to watch the stars when he couldn’t sleep.

“Hey, Bone Dude? The girl called out. Sans teleported to the kitchen, appearing right behind her.

She turned, screamed, and dropped what she was holding. Bottles of pills.

He had to admit he was impressed by how quickly she regained her composure. She picked up the bottles and went right back to what she had been doing.

“You said the old bastard lied about you needing to eat?”

Sans nodded.

She muttered something and waved at the kitchen. “Kitchen and pantry are open to you. I don’t have much, but anything I have is yours.”

Sans stared at her as she turned away to fumble the bottles open. He looked at the refrigerator.

The skeleton had more than his fair share of human owners. Some had been better than others.

None had ever given him full access to their kitchen.

“ … anything?” Sans asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, anything,” she said. She pushed him gently out of the way, opening the fridge and pulling out a plastic water bottle. She was still slurring, but either he was starting to understand her or she was sobering up. Her speech was becoming clearer. “If you use up the last of something or want anything specific, write it down for me. I'll try to get it next time I do a grocery run. Which’ll be next Sunday. The list’s on the door.”

Sans had stopped listening and was just … staring. Taking in the sight of food. The knowledge that he could eat any of it. He was _allowed_.

College Chick waved a hand in front of his face, breaking his silent reverie. “Don’t let all the penguins out.”

Sans closed the door with a grunt and looked around.

He tried to push down the hope that this would last. That maybe she _wouldn’t_ get sick of him.

Maybe he could stay here.

He knew it was empty hope.

She said something, soft and gentle, that he didn’t hear at first.

“This _is_ your home, now.”

It was too much. Sans shut down.

_Don’t get attached._

_It won’t last_.

. . . . .

Sans wasn’t asleep when College Chick - _Theresa_ \- had started moving around again. He had been on the balcony of the spare room, watching Venus traverse the sky.

He didn’t know the time - he had no watch or clock to reference - but he knew it was _early_.

 _Very_ early.

Didn’t humans need sleep?

Theresa had a quick shower and was in the kitchen by the time Sans wandered back inside. He teleported directly to the kitchen, finding himself behind her again. He glanced at the stovetop clock.

4:13

She was taking a piece of toast out of the toaster.

“You’re up early,” Sans said.

He hadn’t meant to scare her, and he hadn’t expected her to throw the bread at him like a weapon. He jumped a foot over as the bread flew by and watched as it disappeared into the dark apartment.

“Guess that bread is … toast?” he asked.

The girl groaned, but he could hear the laughter in her voice. It made him think of Papyrus a little.

“Make a pun _that_ bad _this_ early again and _you’ll_ be toast.”

Sans snorted.

“Fuck yeah,” the girl muttered as she turned away from him. Before he could consider a response she whirled around, pointing at his nasal cavity.

“Fuck _no_! I have to go to work!”

Sans blinked, thrown by the sudden change in her demeanor.

Plenty of his previous humans had worked. Usually they left him in their homes alone, often with a list of chores to have done by the time they returned.

“And?” he asked, truly lost.

Theresa turned and grabbed the remaining slice of toast and tore it in half. She held part of it out to Sans while she started ranting.

“I can’t leave you _here_. You’re not on the lease. I don’t even know if this place _allows_ monsters? I mean I’m pretty sure they do … but I’m _pretty sure_ they have to be _on the lease_. And I can’t have a stranger just … in my home while I’m _gone_.”

Sans couldn’t think of a response. He was staring at the bread she held out to him while she ranted.

He couldn’t figure out what she wanted

He couldn’t figure _her_ out.

She had offered him the bigger half.

 _It won’t last_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: The next arc begins.
> 
> \---
> 
> You might notice that the fight scene is ... different than what Theresa saw back in chapter 4, if you've been reading for a while. It has actually been rewritten.
> 
> Breaking a wrist while already on the ground is ... a feat. I rewrote it to be more believable.
> 
> \---
> 
> Still struggling with my depression and ADHD. I _should_ have a chapter for next Sunday, but we'll see.
> 
> I'm doing my best.


	8. Good Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Intent** ( _noun_ ): Intention or purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: FOOD AVERSION, NAUSEA.
> 
> \---
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta reader [The Writing Mobster!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Writing_Mobster)

Sans and I fell into routine.

Or, rather, I returned to my routine and Sans followed along as my skeletal shadow.

Every day was more or less the same. Wake up _way_ too early, rush to get ready. Run around the city doing low skill, low pay jobs. Sans napped during my breaks. Grab lunch at Solar’s and chat with Grillby. Work some more. Go home, eat a late dinner, crash around midnight.

Wake up and do it all again the next day.

The closest any of my managers came to caring about Sans was to warn that I was responsible for “any trouble _he_ caused.”

One manager reminded me more than once. Like I had _forgotten_ in the last half hour.

I had a shit memory, but I had _thought_ I was more put together than a neurotic goldfish.

Some of my coworkers, however, were more vocal about the skeleton.

“Since when do _you_ have a slave?”

It was a valid question. I understood the curiosity, and the accusation in their tone.

I had been a vocal supporter of monster rights for _years_.

And here I was, a human with a monster slave all my own.

The question was almost physically painful. A reminder of my hypocrisy.

I retreated to the lie I had given on Monday.

“I live in a rough area. I needed a body guard.”

It was easy enough to believe. Those who knew me well enough to feel comfortable asking about Sans had seen me come to work with bruises or worse. Simple enough to believe that I was a magnet for bad luck.

None of them knew that the dangers I faced were more domestic than being mugged by violent street thugs.

Which was fortunate for me because I kept carrying around the extra cash to get Sans some new clothes.

Time kept conspiring to keep me from taking him to a thrift shop.

Where I had been a regular at Solar’s before, I only ate there two or three items a week. Now I was stopping by every day for lunch.

I wanted Sans to have a chance to talk to someone he knew, someone he could trust.

He always seemed more at ease when talking to Grillby.

When the two monsters talked Sans had those lights in his eyes. It was the only time I saw them, outside of the _very_ rare occasions that I managed to surprise the skeleton. I hoped that, maybe, for at least a couple of hours, he could forget that he was a slave.

That _I_ owned him.

It didn’t lessen the pit of guilt growing in my stomach, but I hoped it made things better for him.

. . . . .

It was Saturday morning. I was nursing a cup of coffee and waiting for the first two pieces of toast to pop.

“How many jobs do you _have_?”

I had mostly adjusted to Sans appearing behind me out of nowhere, but it startled me when I was half asleep.

I groaned as I realized I had jumped and spilled some of my coffee. On my work shirt. I would have to change clothes before we left.

I glared at Sans as I put down my coffee mug, annoyed.

“Freaking ninja,” I muttered as the toaster popped. I divvied up the slices before putting two more in.

I leaned against the counter and nibbled on my breakfast.

“I think I have five or six jobs consistently right now.” I counted them on my fingers as I went. “The factory and housekeeping jobs are my most stable. I also have a pretty stable gig at the warehouse packing shipments. I’m on call for event staff at a nearby bar, but I don’t get called often for that. Loading trucks for shipments, that one is pretty stable.”

I picked up my coffee mug with a frown. I _desperately_ needed the caffeine but it was a double-edged sword. Maybe I would escape the migraine this time.

Unlikely, but a girl could dream.

“I have some side-gigs. General labor, contract cleaning, that sort of thing. None of those last long. I’m only brought in as-needed.”

I thought about it a little more as I sipped my cooling coffee.

“I do some freelance stuff, too. Mostly web design. I’ve written for some magazines and blogs, though. And I work for a temp agency that has me do stuff like stuffing envelopes or sorting mail. If I’m desperate I’ll donate plasma or sign up for a medical trial.”

Another double-edged sword. Plasma was one thing, but the medical trials could be extremely draining.

The toaster popped and I took my piece to eat while I worked on lunch, leaving the other for Sans.

“I guess it really depends on what you mean by ‘job.’ ” I said with a shrug. I paused and tilted my head at him. “Why do you ask?”

Sans seemed thoughtful as he ate his own jam-covered toast, and I wondered if _he_ knew why he asked.

I pulled stuff for a sandwich out of the fridge while I waited for him to answer. Or not.

Outside of Solar’s our conversations tended to be one-sided, so I didn’t expect the skeleton to answer my questions.

He shrugged. “I thought I knew about working multiple jobs, but you’ve shown me a ton.” He winked at me, “A _skeleton_.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes as I layered meat and cheese on the bread, silently praising my rationing. I had _just_ enough for today, and tomorrow I was going grocery shopping. Perfect.

“That was a terrible skele- _pun_ ,” I retorted. Then I looked up at him, grinning mischievously. “I thought I said if you made bad jokes this early you’d be _toast_ , but I guess I was getting a- _bread_ of myself.”

He gave me a surprised chuckle, a _real laugh_ , and I pumped a fist in victory.

“Fuck _yeah_!”

It felt nice to talk to him like this. Like we were friends. Hanging out, enjoying each other’s company.

Bad jokes, mediocre food, good company.

It reminded me of being a kid, getting ready for school with Abby and Sam while mom slept and …

I pulled myself from my memories with a shudder, frowning at the sandwich I was putting together.

I had wanted to ask Sans about the collars, how magic and intent worked. Right now _felt_ like a good time to have that conversation. These moments were always the ones that Abby and I would talk about important things. Moments where we were both calm, relaxed, neither of us in a rush.

But the skeleton’s eyelights were bright, and he was actually _talking to me_. He laughed at my stupid joke.

I didn’t want to ruin this moment.

I put the sandwich in a bag with a sigh, then started cleaning up.

Moments passed and my questions were important.

I tried to ignore the nausea gnawing at my stomach.

“Hey, Sans?” I hedged, voice soft, not looking at him. “Can I ask you something about the collars?”

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. I shivered as I turned to look at the skeleton.

He was staring at me, eyes black voids and all humor gone from him. I’d snuffed out the easy atmosphere like a candle, and it wasn’t coming back.

“I mean … I guess it’s more about magic?” I said, my voice tight with anxiety. “Monsters are made of magic, right?”

He grunted at me, which I took as an affirmative.

“What does that mean exactly?” I asked. “I mean … I thought magic was a type of energy? But _you’re_ physical. You can touch and … interact with the world. And … I know we can _measure_ energy? Like … watts and joules and amps and all that? But _you_ have mass and weight and physical properties. So … what _is magic_?”

Sans stared at me and I realized I was way off track. I waved my hand as though I could sweep aside my tangent. “Hold on, let me start over. That part isn’t important.”

I grabbed an apple out of the fridge and chips out of the cupboard while I thought out my questions better.

“Okay. The collars. They do something with your magic, right? I mean … assuming you even _know_ how they work.”

He nodded and finally looked away from me. I barely heard him mumble, “Somethin’ like that.”

“Alright. I know they’re technological, too. I guess they’re technomagical?” I shook my head, annoyed that I couldn’t stay on topic. I needed more sleep. “They were _supposed_ to be mini polygraphs or something, right? Polygraphs work by measuring heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, and skin conductivity. Or … something like that.”

I stopped and looked at the skeleton in my kitchen.

The skeleton without a heart or blood. Who lacked lungs to breathe. Had no skin or sweat glands.

I downed the rest of my coffee.

“Uh, except the collars must track something different for monsters. Which I guess is … intent?”

I looked at the empty mug in my hands and debated pouring another cup. I glanced at the oven clock and cursed under my breath. I was running late.

I put the empty mug in the sink and rinsed it with water. Then I ran into my room to pack my bag for the day.

All the while I kept attempting to explain my question.

“I’m off track, again. What I _actually_ want to know is: What _is_ intent? What does that _mean_ when it comes to magic, specifically the collars?”

I glanced behind me, not surprised to find Sans in my doorway.

He wasn’t glaring at me like I had become accustomed to, although his eyes were still black voids.

If anything, he looked … tired.

“Uh, maybe I’m not - ”

“Why?” Sans asked, cutting me off before I could try explaining myself more.

Probably a smart idea, with how this morning had gone so far. I was likely to get even further into the weeds if I started rambling again.

“I’m trying to understand how it all works,” I said, I waved my laptop at him before sliding it into my bag. “I’ve been researching the collars for the last few days.”

I reached for my phone with a frown as I continued. “I can’t do anything about Grillby’s collar or the commands on him. I’ve figured out what a lot of his commands are … or I’ve figured out how to talk _around_ the commands. Mostly through trial and error. Apollo told me a couple of the commands, but he left a _lot_ out.”

Most of it, really.

Apollo wasn’t really a ‘friend.’ We weren’t close. He was some guy I knew from high school who happened to run a pretty great bar.

Still, it was distressing seeing how _comfortable_ he had become with being a slave owner.

Sometimes it seemed like he enjoyed ordering the fire elemental around.

Like he got off on the _power_ it gave him. The _authority_.

It made me feel sick.

I worried that would happen to me.

My stomach twisted unhappily, threatening to evict my breakfast of coffee and dry toast.

I rubbed my eyes as I left my room, closing and locking the door behind me.

“It’s different with you,” I continued as I walked down the hall. “Aside from the … pre-programmed commands? … mine are the next highest priority, right?”

I glanced back to see Sans nodding, his eyes dark and his expression becoming angry again.

“I don’t want to give you a command by accident,” I explained as I turned away from him. “I don’t want to give you a command _at all_.”

I stopped by the door to put on my shoes and looked back at the skeleton.

The anger was gone, replaced with a wary, confused expression that I couldn’t name.

His eyelights were back, small but bright.

Disbelief. That was the expression.

I looked down to tie my shoes. “From what I’ve read, the important part behind a command is _intent_. But I don’t … understand what that means. In a metaphysical sense, I guess.”

He didn’t say anything.

I felt like I had crossed too many boundaries.

I stood up and adjusted my jacket and messenger bag awkwardly.

“This was too heavy for this early in the morning. Never mind. Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted. Trying to ignore the tight anxiety in my chest. “We have a whole day of work ahead of us. New liver, same eagles.”

The comment seemed to snap Sans out of whatever he was thinking and he stared at me in complete confusion.

“W-What?”

I smiled as I held the door open for him. “What? Never heard of Prometheus?”

. . . . .

I left the bar bathroom after washing my hands to find Sans in his regular seat. He was sitting across from Grillby, gesturing with his hands.

I watched him as I walked over, feeling like I recognized some of the motions.

Some of them looked like hand signs, a few enough to be recognizable words.

_Chemistry … Alcohol … Solution …_

It made me think of a joke I’d heard before. A poster on a chemistry teacher’s wall.

 _Technically, alcohol_ **is** _a Solution_.

Grillby flared in faux anger and as I got closer I could see Sans was laughing.

It clicked.

“You know ASL?!” I shouted at the pair as I ran the last few steps to them. I turned to Sans, “You’re _telling jokes_ in ASL?”

Both monsters stopped what they were doing and stared at me.

Realization that I had just randomly screamed in the middle of a busy restaurant for no apparent reason hit me. I glanced around at the other patrons of Solar’s. I had quite a few people staring at me. Some amused, others annoyed. I felt myself turning red under the scrutiny and I clambered up onto my usual seat.

I threw back my drink, letting the burn of the alcohol mix with the heat of embarrassment.

I started to explain my outburst, signing as I spoke. The motions were slow with disuse, but I found I remembered a fair amount.

“I didn’t know you knew sign language, Grillby. I would have asked you to sign instead of being verbal if I had known!”

Sans was watching my hands, eyelights visible and expression curious.

“Not all monsters can _speak_ ,” the skeleton explained. He began to mimic me, speaking and signing at the same time. “We call it Hands. Most monsters know it.”

Grillby nodded and helpfully signed, “ _I didn’t know_ you _knew Hands_.”

“Not Hands,” I mimicked the unfamiliar sign as I shook my head. “I took some American Sign Language - ASL - courses a few years back. I’m not fluent. But I _can_ follow what you two are saying!” I turned to Sans. “You said nearly _all_ monsters know sign? That’s amazing!”

Humans, at least the ones in Ebott, generally only learned ASL if they absolutely had to. It wasn’t particularly well known outside the Deaf community.

Sans shrugged, “Some monsters can’t speak a language others understand. Some can’t speak _at all_. Most have hands or something similar, though. It’s pretty rare to meet someone who doesn’t know at least a little Hands.”

“That’s so _cool_ ,” I said. “Usually the only people who know sign are either deaf or hard-of-hearing. Or they know someone who is. I wish more humans knew it.”

“ _Why did you learn?_ ” Grillby asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t really know. I was just interested to learn it, I guess. I like languages, linguistics, that sort of thing.”

In truth there had been a lot of reasons. I _was_ interested to learn it, of course, but at the time I had hoped that maybe I could get a job as a translator.

I had wanted to be _useful_ , to help people enjoy their lives more.

But I’d failed.

Story of my life.

Now that I knew monsters had a version of sign language, I wanted to learn everything about it. I pulled out my phone to start searching some of my questions.

Grillby tapped the plate of food I had been ignoring, gently pushing it toward me.

A reminder that I should eat before my lunch break was over.

He could tell that I had found something interesting to focus on. He knew how single minded I could get when I found an interest.

He probably had _also_ noticed that I hadn’t been eating as much this last week.

My stomach hadn’t fully settled since bringing Sans home. Even _thinking_ about eating made me feel nauseated and ill.

But I couldn’t afford to waste food. My budget was already tight.

I sighed and took a bite of my burger to appease the fire elemental, who gave a flare of acceptance. He turned back to Sans and the two picked up the conversation they had dropped when I had interrupted.

I watched for a moment without really processing the signs.

ASL was related to French Sign Language, but both were “new” languages. ASL specifically had only existed since the 1800s. But the Barrier went up, trapping monsters in the Underground, _long_ before that.

Of course, monsters also _spoke English_ , which hadn’t been in the area much longer than ASL. At least, not on the sort of time scale I was working with.

I wondered how that all worked.

I pulled out my notebook to write myself a note.

> _Look into Monster History courses/books._
> 
> _Linguistic history?_
> 
> _Hands_

I thought for a minute if I should add anything else, then put the notebook to the side and picked up my phone. I pulled up my social media to distract me while I ate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Terra has a day off.
> 
> \---
> 
> I've always heard that alcohol is not a solution to my problems.
> 
> But according to chemistry, Alcohol **is** a Solution.
> 
> And if you can't trust scientists, then who _can_ you trust?
> 
> \---
> 
> I cannot, unfortunately, take credit for the "New liver, same eagles" line. My husband came across [this Tumblr post](https://generalgrievousdatingsim.tumblr.com/post/188366831288/i-was-reading-about-the-myth-of-prometheus-today), and we both absolutely loved it. I promised him I would try to make the phrase a mainstream saying.
> 
> I think I need to put it in all my writing. Forever.


	9. UDSK-ST-001S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: NAUSEA, MENTION OF BLOOD (in a medical sense)
> 
> \---
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta reader [The Writing Mobster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Writing_Mobster)! who also made a [fanart of Terra!](https://washi.tumblr.com/post/616669082084884480/i-got-a-fan-artfan-doll-of-the-main-character-of)
> 
> Also, here's [my take](https://www.deviantart.com/washichiisai/art/Terra-Navarro-836994941) on my perpetually tired, overworked main character.

Saturday night. Ten-forty-seven.

I leaned against the door as I locked it behind us, sighing with relief.

I slowly peeled myself away from the frame and kicked off my shoes. I was _so done_.

Except I wasn’t.

With a groan I dragged myself to the kitchen to do an inventory.

I checked the list on the fridge, noting that Sans hadn’t added anything. As my inventory went on, I began to realize he hadn’t finished anything off, either.

 _Technically_.

He was meticulous. A single cherry tomato. A spoonful of vanilla ice cream. A single cracker in an otherwise empty box.

 _Half a cookie_.

The skeleton thought he was clever.

I was irritated. His prank made my night even _longer_ , when all I wanted to was to go to bed.

But even as I felt myself getting angrier, I found it endearing.

Sans was testing limits and boundaries. I recognized the behavior. But more than that, he had taken up my offer of an open kitchen.

He had no reason to trust me when I said he could have whatever he wanted.

But he did.

I felt a little lighter.

I grabbed the list off the refrigerator door.

“G’night, Sans!” I called out as I passed the spare rooms. I didn’t know which he had chosen, and the lights were out in both. I didn’t even know if he was actually _in_ one of the rooms. As usual, he had pretty much vanished the moment we walked into my apartment.

For all I knew he was teleporting to the moon.

Still, I hoped he heard me. “Sleep in tomorrow, it’s my day off!”

I closed and locked my bedroom door and changed into my pajamas before situating myself on my bed. I grabbed a notepad and began making a plan.

First thing - find employment for the week. My standard Sunday-morning-routine. Wake up and call all my employers to find out when and where I was needed.

Fortunately my work was pretty stable.

I needed groceries. Food was my second highest priority. I either needed to go shopping first or last.

First meant I would _definitely_ take care of it, at the cost of having to come home afterward. I didn’t want to have ice cream melting in my backseat. Breaking up my “outside” time meant risking not leaving again to do my other errands.

Last meant I would be _exhausted_ by the time I got to it.

I would have to decide that in the morning.

I wanted to stop at Solar’s for lunch, but I was running low on spare cash.

I glanced at my dresser. At the old jewelry box my grandfather had made for me.

It was a simple wooden box with an intricate inlay of a Quetzal, his favorite bird. It was one of my most precious belongings.

The jewelry inside on the other hand … I didn’t wear any of it often. My jobs were either too rough or had strict rules about jewelry for safety reasons.

I was quite attached to my limbs and appendages. I didn’t see a reason to change their current number.

Thievery was a problem, too. I didn’t keep anything in my bag that was worth stealing, normally, and all my coworkers knew it. That’s why I didn’t worry too much about having the extra cash. But if I wore jewelry to my jobs and someone noticed, it wouldn’t take long for the item to wander off.

I could pawn something.

I added “pawn shop?” to my list.

If I couldn’t manage it I could stop at my sister’s café instead. It would be nice to see her.

That left the thrift store.

Sans _needed_ clothes. He didn’t seem to have much body odor of his own, but he had picked up some _interesting_ smells from my workplaces.

Not _good_ interesting, either.

There was only so much showering could do when your clothes were filthy.

I had shown Sans where the washing machine and dryer were, but he hadn’t used them. His showers took at least an hour, but he kept his clothes with him, so I couldn’t throw them into the washer or dryer myself, either.

That meant groceries were my top priority, followed by the thrift shop. If I could stop at a pawn shop we could go to Solar’s for lunch. Otherwise, we’d go to my sister's café.

Equally important was getting Sans registered. I could do _that_ from home. I had _planned_ on doing it from home.

I kept putting it off. I spent all my spare time focused on researching magic and collars and intent.

That was the _absolute_ first thing I had to do, right after finding work for the week.

_“I have the paperwork for that monster, right? I could just … not submit it!”_

I groaned as my brain reminded me of last Sunday. I really hadn’t understood why Grillby had looked so … concerned when I suggested it.

I understood now. In fact, I had a _really good idea_ why trying to game the system like that was a _horrible_ plan.

It probably would have ended with Sans dead.

Monster slaves were tracked and monitored in a whole _variety_ of ways. The legal paper trail was just the beginning of a mountain of bureaucratic crap.

It was all _strongly_ enforced.

Assuming the angry old dude had owned Sans long enough to bother, he had certainly filed _his_ side of the transfer paperwork already. He could get some of the registration fee back, and having been around stingy old men like him before, I was certain that would have inspired him to act.

If he _hadn’t_ owned Sans long enough to bother, then Sans was still registered to the person who had him _before_ the old guy I met.

The further you went back in the transfer paperwork, the more likely it became that someone had either _not_ registered Sans while the person before _them_ had transferred their ownership.

It was pretty likely that Sans appeared as “unowned” in the system, and since he wasn’t with a dealer or auction house it wouldn’t be surprising if he was listed as “missing.”

Depending on how long he had been “missing,” officers could be looking for him.

It wouldn’t be hard. The collars included GPS tracking.

If they found him when Sans happened to be alone, and if he wasn’t able to convince them that he had a human owner …

He could be marked as a runaway monster.

A rogue.

It meant he could _die_.

I circled “Register Sans” a bunch of times and put stars around it for good measure. As soon as I had my work schedule figured out I would get Sans registered.

I told myself it didn’t mean anything.

It was just my name on a few legal documents.

It didn’t _mean_ anything.

. . . . .

My absolute favorite part of every Sunday was never written on my list, but was always on my plan.

 _Sleep the fuck in_.

So _why_ was I awake at … six-oh-three with my muscles aching and my joints stiff?

I groaned and put my hands over my eyes.

“Why?” I whined at my ceiling. “Why can’t you let me _sleep_?” I tried to ignore how my voice twitched up in a desperate whimper.

I felt like I had been run over by a train.

Twice.

Maybe once more. Just to be _real_ sure I felt it.

I groaned again as I rolled over to grab my bag and fumbled out a bottle of painkillers. I tossed a couple back and dry swallowed while reaching for my water bottle.

Once I washed the pills down I turned on my light, wincing at the sudden brightness.

I looked at my list.

Find employment. I could start on that immediately, and it would only take me an hour or two. I could do that before breakfast.

I grabbed my calendar and began calling my usual job sites, figuring out who needed me this week.

As I filled out my schedule I considered working next Sunday.

I decided against it.

My Sundays were sacred. I wasn’t going to give them up.

I thought of my dwindling savings and cringed a little.

I wasn’t giving them up _yet_ , at least.

I could rework my budget and get it balanced again. Things would be tight for a little while as I adjusted, but I could do it.

My outdoor jobs were drying up as it got closer to Halloween. The apple orchard still needed laborers, especially now that a lot of the migrant workers had moved further south. It made it more difficult to find day labor, but I had pretty solid indoor jobs this year, so I wasn’t too concerned.

It was a little after eight when I finally emerged from my room, humming a victory theme.

Quest “Find employment” completed. Obtain 100XP.

I looked up from my phone as I entered the kitchen, only to stop just short of the threshold.

Sans was asleep on the couch.

I had never seen the skeleton so … at _ease_.

He was _always_ tense. On edge. Like he was trying to focus on everything around him all at once.

Like he had to always be on guard. Even while asleep.

Maybe _especially_ while he slept.

He had to be ready in case something happened.

I knew the feeling.

But right now his expression was softer, less strained.

Relaxed.

 _Real_.

He looked like he belonged there.

He gave a small snort in his sleep as he rolled over, and I found myself having to stifle a laugh. Somehow that noise was both adorable and _hilarious_. It broke the trance I had fallen under as I stared at him.

I laughed quietly as I made my way into the kitchen.

I did my best to be quiet as I dug out a slice of pasta and reheated it.

Sans seemed to be out cold, but I didn’t want to wake him if I could help it.

The skeleton did _not_ like me. It wasn’t exactly comfortable sharing all my time with someone who _radiated_ anger. He spent most of his day glaring daggers at the back of my head, all black sockets and hatred.

If looks could kill, _I_ would be a skeleton by now. That’s how dead I would be.

The empty sockets wouldn’t bother me so much if I knew he wasn’t doing it on _purpose_. Because sometimes, like when we went to Solar’s and he was talking with Grillby, I saw those bright white pupils.

His face was downright _mesmerizing_ when he had those lights in his eyes. He seemed so much more … _real_. Tangible.

Emotive.

The lack of them was a warning.

The arched back and flattened ears of a cat.

The flared hood and angry hiss of a cobra.

The bright colors of a poison dart frog.

“Don’t mess with me or you’re going to have a bad time.”

It felt like I was always walking on a tightrope.

I didn’t, _couldn’t_ blame him. His entire _race_ had been screwed over by humans at _least_ twice now.

We didn’t keep records about their being _literal monsters_ trapped inside the _mountain._ I didn’t trust that we kept records about what happened _before_ we imprisoned an entire people underground.

I had no idea if humans had done anything _else_ to monsters.

Even if we hadn’t, none of that truly mattered. There was _plenty_ humans had done since the Barrier fell that monsters had every right to be angry about.

 _I_ talked about believing in monster rights. _I_ spoke out against monster slavery.

I was a hypocrite.

 _I had a slave_.

If someone like _me_ could _own_ another person … What did that say about the rest of humanity?

I wasn’t surprised Sans hated me.

I kind of did too.

Distracted by my thoughts, I had autopiloted my breakfast. Opening the microwave to stir at the unevenly heated lasagna and putting it back in for another minute. A comforting, normal routine while I thought about things.

Sans and I spoke, but it was never deep. My sleep-deprived ramblings about intent aside, we talked about my plans for the day. Or I would say “goodnight” in his general direction every night.

I didn’t think I should count myself yelling into a Sans-shaped void as “talking.” It certainly wasn’t a conversation.

We spoke in cordial, necessary communication. There was no familiarity or warmth to it.

I threw jokes at him, and occasionally I got a sad little half-chuckle.

It was like talking to a rock.

I wondered if that was how my mother felt when she talked to _me_ about my siblings.

… Probably not. The woman had the social awareness of a preying mantis. Everything was about her, always, and if it _wasn’t_ she was liable to bite your head off.

Sometimes only figuratively.

I popped the microwave door open right before the timer ran out and took my breakfast. I glanced at Sans once more and smiled, feeling a warm pang in my chest. I was glad he looked so relaxed.

I wanted to give him more.

I sighed and wandered back to my bedroom.

If I wanted to make Sans safe, I needed to register him as ‘belonging’ to me.

Personal comfort be damned, I was going to protect the skeleton.

I got comfortable on my bed and opened my laptop. The pit of guilt in my stomach was gone, replaced with the warmth of a goal and determination to see it through.

The website for Monster Slave Registration was bland to the point of impressive. For a government website it was surprisingly bare.

I clicked the “Register a Monster” link, and took a bite of lasagna as it loaded.

The page opened up to a fillable form requesting my information. I filled in my name, address, email … all standard identification stuff. Double check that I’m on a .gov website and click “Next.”

Verify my information. “Next.”

Now I needed Sans’ information.

There were two options, either put in the information manually or search by identification number.

I grabbed the mass of disorganized paperwork from my bag and looked at the top page, the transfer paperwork from the old man to me.

Sans’ identification number was printed right there at the top.

**UDSK-ST-001S**

I typed in the number and clicked “Search.”

“Is this your monster?”

And there he was. A photo that was an eerie mixture of school portrait and mugshot, rictus grin and void-black eyes.

I clicked “Yes” without reading further. I didn’t need to know Sans’ history and I felt bad prying. I doubted there were many skeletons that looked like the one asleep on my couch.

The page loaded again and I typed in my payment information for the registration fee. It was cheaper than adopting an old dog from the shelter.

“I agree. Next.” Click.

And … that was it.

I was now the registered owner of my own skeleton monster.

Wouldn’t mama be proud?

My breakfast of lasagna wasn’t sitting right in my stomach anymore, and the lingering smell of tomato and basil was slightly nauseating.

The page reloaded to give me a confirmation number. I sent the receipt to my email and scrolled down the page, skimming the information and double checking what I had submitted. It was too late to retract it, but it would be better to fix it now than in a couple of weeks when I got physical documentation.

There was a link at the bottom of the page.

“Next Steps!”

I clicked and waited for the page to load.

> **Human Protection Device and SOUL Calibration**
> 
> Your Monster’s Human Protection Device (HPD) will need to be calibrated to your SOUL as soon as possible. The easiest way to do this is by inserting a drop of blood into the collection port on the HPD. Please contact of the manufacturer of your Monster’s HPD to learn where this port is and how to give a small blood sample.
> 
> If you require assistance, please visit any of the following locations …

That was … concerning.

I didn’t want my blood anywhere _near_ Sans, let alone “calibrate the HPD to my SOUL.”

Why was SOUL written like that, anyway?

I frowned as I continued reading, looking for loopholes.

I quickly realized that this was a _definite_ requirement.

If _I_ didn’t calibrate the collar to my SOUL, then _anyone_ could give Sans a command and I wouldn’t be able to override it. The magic wouldn’t recognize me as more important.

And SOUL calibration was yet _another_ way monsters were tracked.

Every time the calibration was changed or updated the collar sent a ping to some government server that recorded it, marking that monster as owned.

If I delayed, or if I didn’t keep the collar attuned by feeding it a drop of blood every six months, Sans could, again, be listed as missing.

And there was a thin, pale line between missing, runaway, and _rogue_.

Between being _in_ danger and being _a_ danger.

I had known there was a kill switch on the “human protection devices.” The addition had been controversial.

Bigots had shouted the protestors down, claiming it was too dangerous to _not_ have a remote kill switch.

“There _must_ be a way to stop a renegade monster!”

Protestors hadn’t been able to stop the addition of the kill switch, but we had been able to make the usage _extremely_ limited. There was supposed to be a whole legal process to allowing the switch to be used.

As I read I realized that those legal limits had been legislated into meaninglessness. Worth less than the paper they were written on.

Any monster could, at any time, be executed.

Their only protection was their human caring enough to keep the collar attuned.

It was thin, fragile armor.

Every time I thought “it can’t get any worse … ” the world threw another brick at my face.

Honestly I should have known better.

Powerful humans pushed for control. It was what they wanted, what they _needed_. It wasn’t enough to simply _control_ the actions of another being. To monitor their every move and control the very words they spoke.

Some needed to be able to kill any monster at any time for any reason.

They got their wish.

I swallowed hard, pushing my anger back down along with my nausea.

I read through the list of locations and found one that was close to Abby’s café.

I scribbled down my plan. Solar’s and the pawn shop were out, but I could get everything else done.

I shoved the paperwork back into my shoulder bag and got up to get dressed.

. . . . .

“Hey Sans, I hate to - oh!”

Sans was awake and tying his shoes when I left my bedroom. I hadn’t had a chance to tell him we had errands to run.

I spoke without thinking.

“Going somewhere?”

I resisted the urge to smack myself in the face. What kind of question was that?

“I mean … Glad to see you up? I wanted to let you sleep, but there’s something _we_ need to take care of.”

The skeleton gave a shrug and a nod, then stood and watched as I slipped into my own shoes.

I didn’t want to talk about registering him as ‘mine’ or what I’d discovered about the collars and SOUL Calibration. He probably already knew about the latter, anyway.

But I didn’t want to drag him to some government building just to flaunt my ownership of him in front of him.

“So this morning I got you registered under my name,” I said, trying to sound as casual as possible about the situation. I felt like I’d eaten a knife. “I didn’t know about having to get the collar calibrated to my SOUL. I assume you know about that?”

As soon as I mentioned the collar Sans’ demeanor darkened. He gave a silent nod to my question.

“Great. Here’s my plan,” I said, offering him the paper. “We stop at my sister’s café for some food. Then we go do the calibration thing. After that you can come back here and chill while I take care of my weekly shopping.”

He stared at me, expression unreadable. Emotions I couldn’t name flickered across his face in rapid fire succession.

He ended on a mixture between confused, surprised, and … annoyed.

“So you’re willing to leave me alone now that you’ve … ?”

I blinked at him, shocked at the accusation in his voice.

I frowned.

I wasn’t concerned about leaving him alone in my apartment anymore. At least, not for the hour or two it would take me to buy groceries. It wasn’t because I owned him now, either.

He didn’t like me, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would destroy my stuff for no reason.

 _His_ sort of revenge was eating everything but half a cookie.

“No,” I said. “It isn’t about that. I wanted to give you a chance to relax. It just happened to be that the day I can give you that chance is _also_ the first day I’ve had a chance to do any of this shit.”

I sighed, “I trust you to not get into trouble for two hours. There aren’t enough old men in my apartment to cause a brawl, and it’s only a grocery run.”

He held the paper out to me and I took it and shoved it in my back pocket as I stood up. “I also planned on stopping at the thrift shop and getting you some clothes. What do you like to wear?”

For some reason I had assumed he didn’t care about what he wore, and I had planned on buying him some t-shirts and athletic pants. Maybe a winter coat since his own jacket was so threadbare.

Sans didn’t answer, so I shrugged and turned to open the door. “Well, if you don’t mind coming on my grocery run with me, we can stop at the thrift shop and you can choose some stuff. Sound good?”

I turned back toward him with a smile, which he responded to with a shrug.

“All right then, let’s go!” I said as I waved him through the door.

I didn’t look at his expression as he passed me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Café, HPD Calibration, Groceries, Thrift Store. Should be doable ... right?
> 
> \---
> 
> I don't know if I'm actually going to follow through with this or not, but I am _very_ tempted to build the website for Monster Services. If I do, I'll let everyone know so you can go play around on it.


	10. Coffee and Calibrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friendly face at a coffee place, then an unpleasant task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: BLOOD (in a medical sense)
> 
> \---
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta reader [The Writing Mobster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Writing_Mobster)!

Sans and I crossed the street to the parking garage, and I led the way up the stairs and to my car.

He stared at the vehicle while I pulled my keys from my shoulder bag.

“You have a car?” he asked.

I unlocked the doors with a nod, confused by his confusion. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you _use_ it?” the skeleton asked as he settled into the front passenger seat.

I checked the mirrors and turned the ignition. “You mean to get to my jobs? It’s faster to walk. Well … run. Seatbelt.”

He stared at me blankly until I pointed to my own.

“Seatbelt. Car doesn’t move until everyone’s buckled in.”

The skeleton nodded and pulled the belt across his chest and lap. I pulled up the GPS on my phone and typed in the address for my sister’s café. I knew the way, but it was nice to have directions anyway.

“I used to drive to work,” I explained. “Early on. Between traffic and finding parking, it wasn’t worth it. I can get anywhere in the city on foot or with public transit, as long as I time it right, and my jobs outside the city are usually shuttled. I don’t drive unless I have to.” I pulled out of my space and made my way out of the garage. “Besides, driving uses gas and gas is expensive. And owning a car means I have to have insurance. Which is _also_ expensive. I have one of those pay-by-the-mile car insurances. So not driving saves me money.”

“Then … why are you driving now?”

“Groceries,” I said simply. “I try to buy around two weeks worth at a time It’s a pain trying to lug that back home on foot.” I pulled onto the main street and fixed my eyes on the road. “First, though, we’re going to my sister’s café. It’s called ‘Well Roasted.’ ”

Sans was quiet for a moment, watching the city pass by as I drove. Then he snickered.

I grinned. I hoped he and Abby would get along, and it seemed they were already off to a good start.

I just hoped my sister was at the café today.

. . . . .

**Sea Tea and Crabapple Tarts**

Well Roasted was a trendy upscale coffee shop just outside of the popular tourist part of the city. As Abby had grown her business she had added a chocolatier and patisserie to the business.

It was well outside my price range, like all coffee shops, but Abby had promised me that as long as she was the owner, I would never have to pay. Which meant as long as Well Roasted existed, since I didn’t see Abby selling the place for all the money in the world.

It was her dream.

It was the only coffee place I went to.

It didn’t hurt that they made the absolute _best_ hot chocolate I had ever had, on top of having excellent coffee.

I held the door open for Sans and scanned the dining room. It was near empty, which made me relax. I had worried that we would be confronting midday crowds.

It was so much nicer to not be surrounded by people.

I glanced up at the menu boards, reacquainting myself with the café’s offerings. I hadn’t been here in months, but aside from seasonal drinks the menu tended to remain fairly static. There were, to my surprise, two new boards.

The first had seven hearts along the bottom, each a different color. “In collaboration with Seven Souls Bakery, Well Roasted is now serving Spider Pastries!”

The other new board had a drawing of a sea turtle drinking a bubble tea and said, “Proudly Serving SEA TEA!”

I smiled as I felt a rush of pride for my big sister.

She had done it.

“Aunt T!” a voice called, breaking me from my reverie.

I looked toward the speaker and my expression brightened into a happy smile.

“Jamie!” I called out in response, giving the teenager a wave.

He looked like he was about to jump over the counter to rush me. As he was hoisting himself up and over one of his coworkers grabbed his arm to redirect him. I waited where I was so he could tackle me in a hug.

I felt Sans tense next to me as my nephew ran at us, but I didn’t have time to ask why.

I hugged the kid back for a moment before pulling away to reach up and ruffle his hair.

“God kiddo, you’re getting big,” I teased with a smile.

James had only been five when Abby had started babysitting him. Shortly afterward he had attached himself to me as his “Aunt T.” The kid and his baby sister were some of the only people who never failed to cheer me up.

“Nah, you’re just shrinking in your old age,” James joked as he led me to the counter. I wasn’t certain he had even noticed the skeleton following us. “What are you doing here?”

“Had to run errands,” I explained. “I’m going over to the Department of Monster Services after this. But I wanted to stop by and see my favorite nephew while I was in the neighborhood.”

“Is there another protest?” James asked, looking concerned.

“No, nothing like that.” I shook my head as my mood fell under the weight of reality. I looked around for a moment before asking, “Is your mom here? I need to talk to her about something.”

“They’re at church,” James said, shaking his head.

I nodded, unhappy but unsurprised. I had hoped to see her, but I hadn’t expected anything different. Sunday was the Sabbath, and the Sabbath meant church.

I may have lost my faith a long time ago, but Abby still had hers.

“Is she gonna be in today at all?” I asked, hoping there was still a chance I could see her.

“Nope,” James said as he shook his head again. Then he brightened. “We have family dinner tonight!”

I nodded, trying to brush off my disappointment. “That’s fine. I’ll schedule something with her.”

James sighed and frowned, making me think I had missed something, but I ignored it and looked at the menu boards. “I’ll get my usual cocoa, and an almond croissant. Also, whatever he wants.”

I jerked my thumb toward the skeleton behind me, catching Sans and James off guard and making them both jump.

They both stared at me, confused for different reasons.

I rolled my eyes.

“James, this is Sans. He’s my … roommate. He’s part of why I need to talk to your mom,” I said before turning back to Sans. “This is my nephew, James. And I’m not going to drag you to a coffee shop and _not_ get you something. Whatever you want, drink and pastry.”

Sans recovered first.

He stared at me, black eyes and lazy posture, hands shoved into his pockets.

“You keep trying to feed me,” he drawled. “Trying to fatten me up?”

I snorted at the accusation. “ _Obviously_. Look at you! You’re all skin and bones … except, you know, _sans the skin_.”

Sans stared at me for a moment before bursting out in a full-on laugh, his eyelights sparking into existence.

“Fuck _yeah_!” I said as I pumped a fist to the air and turned back to my nephew. “Add a cookie to my order, James. I need a reward for that one.”

James was still staring at the skeleton, slack jawed and confused. I tapped his hand gently to get his attention. “You okay, kiddo?”

He nodded slowly, then started tapping my order into the tablet in front of him. He turned to Sans with a wide, open smile that started strained but quickly slipped into comfortable.

“What would you like, Sans?”

The skeleton looked taken aback, and I wondered if it was because of James’ attitude or the general idea that I was going to get him something here. I wondered, unhappily, how often the skeleton had been dragged places and not fed, or simply left behind alone. I dug my fingers into my palm to keep my anger in check.

Sans looked up to the menu boards and his eyelights dimmed. I glanced up and remembered just how overwhelming the options were.

I glanced behind us, relieved that we were still the only customers. Then I turned back to James. “He might need a minute. I saw you guys are serving sea tea now!”

James beamed, his bright smile rivaling the sun. He stood up a little straighter, prouder. “Yeah! We got the first shipment in on Wednesday. It’s been selling like _crazy_.”

I couldn’t help but return his proud smile. “Your mom did a lot of work to get approval, she should be proud of herself. She’s also working with Seven Souls now?”

James nodded, enthusiasm plain on his face. “She got the contract with Seven Souls first, actually. _They_ helped push through the sea tea approval. We’re officially the first non-Rainbow company in or out of Ebbot to sell monster food!”

Sans glanced between us, our conversation distracting him from the overwhelming menu.

I pointed up at the two new boards. “My sister has been trying to get approval from the city council to sell monster food here for _years_. She started almost immediately after the Barrier fell.”

James nodded and explained, “Mom told me she went to visit the Underground right after the Barrier broke. She was on a class trip or something. They went to … Frozen? Snowing? … I can’t remember the name - ” Sans muttered something I didn’t catch as he turned back to look at the boards. James didn’t hear him at all and kept talking. “ - Anyway, she had what she said was the _best_ cinnamon bun **_ever_.** She’s been looking for the monster who sold them ever since. Mom wasn’t able to find her, but she _did_ meet someone who got her in touch with Rainbow. Now we can sell monster food!”

James looked so happy, beaming with pride at how hard his mom worked. Sans looked between my nephew and I for a long second, silent and calculating. When he finally spoke his voice was softer, lacking the sharp edge I had become used to.

“Yeah … yeah. I’ll get a sea tea and a … ” he glanced at the display case. “ … crabapple tart.”

I smiled and moved to pull my wallet out as James typed the order in, only to have my nephew put up a hand to stop me.

“You know the rules, Aunt T,” he said, suddenly every bit a surly teenager.

I rolled my eyes at him. “ ‘Family doesn’t pay,’ ” I quoted at the teenager, sarcasm thick in my voice. I pointed at Sans. “Your mom hasn’t even _met him_ yet. I’m paying for his order, at least.”

James shook his head as he printed out the order and handed it to the barista who had stopped him from leaping across the counter. “Nope. He’s a friend of yours. That means he’s family.”

I glared at him, but the edge was dulled by playfulness. “You wouldn’t do that for any of your uncles, would you?”

James responded with a wide grin. “That’s why I specified a friend of _yours_ , Aunt T! Do you want to choose your pastries?”

I dropped a couple bills into the tip jar before he could stop me and shook my head.

“You’re the professional, I trust you to choose me the best one.” I glanced back at Sans, who I noticed was looking very uncomfortable. “Wanna choose your apple tart?”

He shook his head and I glanced behind him and pointed to an empty corner booth.

“If you wanna go sit over there, I’ll bring our drinks and pastries once they’re ready. You don’t need to wait around on me.”

Sans looked at the table I indicated and shrugged acceptance before meandering over.

“Don’t tell your mom about him, okay?” I asked James as I turned back toward him.

“Why not?” James asked as he plated Sans’ tart. “Is he a secret?”

“No … I just want to explain some things to her about the situation first,” I said.

James frowned, biting at his lip, He slid the two pastry plates across the counter to me. “Aunt T … mom isn’t going to hate you if you have a monster.”

I flinched and was about to argue but James cut me off before I could speak. “She won’t be disappointed or mad or anything. If you got a monster, there _must_ have been a good reason.” He bit his lip again before continuing. “You don’t need to schedule time to see her, either. You should come over to dinner tonight!”

“Jamie - ”

“Mom and dad would love to have you, and Chloe has been missing her _favorite auntie_ ,” James insisted, ignoring my interruption. “Come to dinner. Bring Sans!”

It was tempting. It had been a long time since I had been around the good parts of my family. Or since I had eaten food that wasn’t greasy and fried or leftover lasagna.

But … I didn’t feel comfortable either leaving Sans home alone _or_ taking him with me. Both options felt like rubbing what I had in his face.

If I left him home I would get a nice family dinner, and he would be alone with leftovers.

If I brought him along with me he would be surrounded by something that was taken from him. Violently.

I glanced over at the skeleton. He had his head on the table, apparently asleep. I gave a little snort and turned back to my nephew.

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “It’s … complicated.”

James’ shoulders dropped, but he nodded despite his disappointment. I was about to explain myself when his coworker brought over our drinks.

“Angel and Sans?” she asked as she placed them on the counter in front of me. I nodded and she pointed at the mugs. “Hot cocoa with hazelnut milk and extra whipped cream, and a sea tea. Enjoy!”

I thanked her and picked up the mugs, balancing them and the plates of pastries in my arms.

“I promise I’ll think about it,” I told James as I got everything situated. “If nothing else I’ll call your mom tonight, okay?”

He nodded again before going back to work.

I took the food to the table

I glanced at the mug of sea tea as I placed it on the table. I wondered who had decided to draw the turtle drinking bubble tea, when apparently sea tea was standard tea.

The china it was in was different than the usual mugs Well Roasted used. It was white, like all the café’s china, it had a different logo on the side. In the place of the café’s logo there was a purple shield with a symbol I recognized, but couldn’t place.

“Huh, that’s new,” I said as I slid the cup in front of my skeletal companion.

Sans lifted his head to look at what I was talking about. The edges of his smile drooped a little.

“It’s the Delta Rune,” he explained as he sat back up. “It’s … the symbol of monsterkind.”

“Sounds like it’s important,” I said as I sat across from him.

Sans shrugged and took a sip of the drink. “They print it on all monster stuff.”

I blinked and realized that’s where I had seen the symbol before. It was on the packaging of the monster candy I bought. I looked up at the menu boards and saw it there, too, next to all monster food and drink.

“Is that disrespectful?”

Sans gave me a blank stare before shrugging and looking away. “I dunno.”

I winced and reached to pull my book out of my bag. “Stupid question. Forget I asked.”

The skeleton was silent, looking out the window with a faraway stare.

“Hey, listen,” I said as I opened my book. I grinned as I tried to find where I had left off, not looking at Sans. “I’m sorry I’ve _bean_ so awkward. I know I mess up a _latte_.” I looked up at him, my tone turning serious. “I’m … not really used to … people. Or being social.”

Sans turned to look at me before giving a soft chuckle.

“Fuck yeah,” I said, looking back at my book. Maybe I would get another cookie and share it with the skeleton.

Except James didn’t give me my first cookie.

Well, if I had to go get a cookie anyway, I might as well grab two of them.

“Why do you do that?” Sans asked. I blinked up at him.

“Do … what?” I asked.

“The ‘fuck yeah’ thing,” Sans clarified.

“Oh! That,” I said. I slid my bookmark in between the pages as I thought about how to answer. “Habit. My younger brother hates those kinds of jokes. Puns and wordplay. When I was a kid I started celebrating every time I could make him laugh with them.”

I rubbed a finger across the cover of my book, imagining my brother’s surprised expression when I could get him with a really good pun.

Sans chuckled and I turned to stare at him, completely confused. His eyelights were bright and his features were soft.

“A little brother who hates puns,” he said as he laughed. “I can relate.”

I was about to ask him more about his family, about his brother, when he asked another question.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Four,” I said holding up my fingers. “Three brothers and a sister. What about you?”

The question was reflexive and I immediately regretted it. Any family he had was either a slave or dead.

I stiffened, feeling like I had stepped directly on a landmine. One wrong move and everything was over.

But … Sans wasn’t angry. He just looked sad. Sad and tired.

“Just one,” he said as he looked away again.

I picked at my croissant, wanting to know more but unsure and unable to ask. I worried about bringing up bad memories. The landmine ticked beneath my feet.

“Five kids, huh?” Sans asked after a moment. “Must have been a big happy family.”

I blinked at him, my train of thought off course for the topic at hand.

“Big … yes.” I said after a moment. I frowned at my croissant. “I wouldn’t say ‘happy,’ though.”

A thick uncomfortable silence fell over the table, and my thoughts churned.

Would _I_ want to talk about family if we were separated?

That … wasn’t really a fair question.

I didn’t want to talk about my family _now_. We _were_ separated, distance kept by a mutual understanding that we just ‘weren’t that kind of family.’ I didn’t even know the last time I had spoken to either of my older brothers.

I wondered if Josh and Alycia had more kids. Last I’d heard they just had their fourth, but I only learned about her existence when she was around six months old.

“What’s he like?” I asked finally, trying to distract myself from my own thoughts. I held up my hands as the skeleton turned his eye sockets on me. “If you want to talk, I mean. I’d like to know, but you don’t have to tell me.”

Sans stared at me for a moment and then his expression changed. Gone was the cold, distant calculating glare. In its place was a wide smile and bright, warm pride.

“He’s the best,” he said simply.

The warmth and love in the skeleton’s voice took me off balance.

 _That’s how family is_ supposed _to feel about each other._

I wanted to respond, but my voice caught in my throat.

Memories rose, unbidden and unwanted, from the depths of my mind. A broken family, twisted into a macabre imitation of what it could have been. What it _should_ have been.

Something tightened in my chest as I pushed away my darker thoughts and went back to my croissant and book.

I was _not_ going to be envious of _Sans_.

“How’s the tea?” I asked after I had calmed down enough.

Sans jumped at the question and I realized he had been people watching. Or daydreaming. Or … possibly simply dreaming? I wouldn’t put it past the skeleton to be able to sleep with his eyes open, given how many other ways I had seen him nap in the last week.

The skeleton stared at his drink for a moment, before taking another sip.

“It’s really good,” he said, voice soft and emotional.

There was a wistful, nostalgic hitch to his voice that I recognized. It was the same as when I would visit Abby and we would drink hot cocoa and talk. The feeling of hugs from James or Chloe.

 _It tastes like home_.

. . . . .

**Ebbot City’s Department of Monster Services**

After we left the café, the skeleton became gloomy again. The lights vanished from his eye sockets and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

He followed me as I led the way to the government building, guided by my phone.

It was easy enough to find the building, but I was grateful to have the GPS anyway.

We approached the plain, three story office building that blended into the city around it. A plaque above the double doors labeled the building as The Department of Monster Services.

Human-monster pairs milled about outside. I frowned at some of the humans who held leashes attached tot he collars of their monster.

What did they think was going to happen? The monster was going to run away?

Wasn’t that what the stupid _kill switch_ was for?

I grumbled under my breath as I entered the building and looked for a directory.

I wanted to talk to whoever dealt with the collars, calibrate Sans’ to my soul, and get out.

Inside the building was bright but dingy, with aging decor that had been out of date long before the monsters had come to the surface. Hand-me-downs and leftovers from other government offices, I assumed.

Near the back of the foyer was a help desk with what looked like a directory. Perfect.

I strode across the room to the desk, eager to get on my way.

The woman behind the desk looked bored and annoyed. She didn’t look up as we approached.

“Welcome to the Ebbot City Department of Monster Services. How may I help you today?” she asked, voice monotone and disinterested.

I glanced at the desk in front of her and saw she was working on a crossword puzzle. With a shrug I turned my attention to the map, trying to find the right department.

“I’m just looking for … ” I mumbled and let my voice drift off without actually saying anything to her.

She was as interested in helping me as I was in talking to her. She made some noncommittal noise and wrote something on the puzzle margins before erasing it with an irritated groan.

“Ugh. ‘7 letter word for ‘funny bone’?’ What does that even _mean_?” she mumbled to herself.

I stopped my search and thought about it for a moment,.

I was counting letters on my fingers when Sans said, “Humerus.”

The lady looked up, confused, so he spelled it for her. “H-U-M-E-R-U-S.”

She wrote down his suggestion, her face breaking into a smile as it fit. “Thank you! I’ve been struggling with that one for an _hour_.”

“Let’s just say I know a thing or two about bones,” Sans said in an easy tone.

I noticed that his voice lacked the humorous lilt it had when he joked around at Solar’s.

The lady chuckled and pushed her puzzle tot he side.

“So, what department are you looking for?” she asked, smiling and friendly now.

I glanced at Sans, perplexed. How did he get her to drop her guard and turn on a genuine smile? Whenever _I_ tried to do that I just made people uncomfortable.

I pushed the thought aside and pulled my phone from my jacket pocket. I held it up to the woman, browser open to the website that had brought me here. “It said I needed to do something with the HPD?”

“Ah! Yes, of course. You’ll want the Human Protection Device department. Second floor, first door on the right from the stairs. There’s the stairs you passed when you came in, or there’s an elevator bank just down this hallway. Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” I said as I glanced at the map, making sure I knew where I was going.

“Great! They’ll get you all set up,” she said. As I turned to leave she quickly added. “I believe Adam and Sadie are working today. Talk to Adam - he’s young, but respectful. And he knows his stuff. Have a nice day!”

She waved at both Sans and myself and I led us to the stairs.

The door was frosted glass with “Human Protection Device Department emblazoned across it in all capital letters. Some of the stickers were peeling, and they weren’t lined up properly.

Inside was an intake room, with chairs off to the side and a large front desk. I could see a line of closed office doors leading down a hallway behind the desk. Everything was bright, lit by florescent tubes that made me wince. The slight flickering always made my head ache.

At the front desk were a young man and woman. The young man was looking at his computer monitor, eyes glassy and completely bored. The young woman was reading a book.

I walked up to the desk and cleared my throat to get their attention, since opening and closing the door hadn’t. The woman glanced at me before nudging her partner with her elbow.

“Your turn,” she said.

He jumped, pulling earbuds out as he hit a few keys on his keyboard. I saw the screen blink as whatever he _had_ been doing was replaced with more “productive” work.

“Hello! Welcome!” he said, voice too loud and obviously startled. “I’m Adam. Russell. Adam Russel, is my name.”

He took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. I wondered if he wasn’t used to working with the public. The woman gave a quiet laugh and turned a page.

“How can I help you?”

I held up my phone, still on the webpage from before. “I need to do this?”

Adam glanced at the page and nodded. “Soul calibration? That’s easy, Come back to my office and I’ll show you how to do it.”

He stepped away from the front desk and led us back to the offices. He opened the door to one that had the names Adam Russell and Skylar Jenkins next to it, written haphazard on computer paper.

I waved Sans through first and followed him in as the young man spoke.

“Have you ever had a finger stick before? To do a blood typing test? Or maybe to check your blood glucose?”

I thought for a moment before shaking my head. “Probably? But I don’t remember it at all.”

He nodded as he closed the door behind him, beckoning for me to sit on one of the two computer chairs as he pulled out the other.

There wasn’t a chair for Sans.

I ignored the proffered seat, waving the skeleton toward it instead.

Adam shrugged and offered me _his_ seat instead.

Musical chairs decided, I sat and Sans followed suit, leaning back and seemingly at ease. I could see his grip on his jacket. He wasn’t comfortable here.

I really wasn’t either.

Adam turned away from us and started pulling things out of the drawer of his desk, laying them on the tabletop as he spoke.

“That’s not unusual. Blood typing tests are done on kids, usually before they can really remember them. And if your not diabetic, there’s not many reasons to track your glucose.” He turned back to me with a gentle smile. “It’s a simple procedure. You take a lancet and put it in a device that’s made for this.”

He was demonstrating as he spoke, his hands moving with the efficiency of practice.

He screwed the top onto the lancing device and showed me the assembled tool. “When I - or you - push this button, it jabs the lancet into your finger to draw a small amount of blood.”

He pushed the button and the device made a clicking sound, which I assumed was the lancet shooting forward as the spring released. He reset the device as he continued. “It’s … fifty-fifty if it’ll hurt or not, but it should only be a pinch. Better than getting a shot! The numbers here indicate the depth of the lancet. I usually keep it around 1.”

I looked at my fingers, calloused and rough. “I’ll … probably need it to go deeper than you think.”

He nodded and turned it so the number read 3 instead.

“The highest is 5, but I’ve only needed to go that far once or twice,” he explained. He then looked at Sans’ collar, not really seeing the skeleton wearing it.

“Do you know when the collar was last calibrated?”

The question was for me, even though he wasn’t looking in my direction at all.

“No. He came into my … company unexpectedly,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I haven’t had time to go through all of his information.”

Adam looked at Sans’ face. “Do _you_ know when it was last calibrated?”

The skeleton thought about it for a moment, somehow screwing his eyes up like he was really thinking, before shrugging. “Longer than six months, shorter than a year,” he said in a lazy drawl. “I’ve lost track.”

Adam turned to his computer and pulled something up. “What’s the serial?”

“UDSKST001S,” Sans said before I could even process the question. His voice was monotone, void of emotion. I couldn’t tell if it was a collar-forced response or just an unhappy reminder.

The young man typed the series of numbers and letters in quickly before pulling up a page similar to the one I had used to register Sans. He skimmed the page before nodding.

“Looks like it was around seven months ago,” he said as he turned to me. “It’s useful to know. The more recent a calibration, the more likely it will interfere with the new one. Six months is usually safe, but it might be worth it to wipe the data of the previous calibration.”

“What does that entail?” I asked.

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a hard reboot of the collar. Your monster would be sedated while the - ”

“No.” I said, cutting him off and surprising all three of us with my tone. I shook my head. “I’m not sedating Sans for something like this. Not unless I have no other choice. How much of a problem will it be without the wipe?”

“Since it’s been longer than six months it really shouldn’t be a problem. The magic tends to weaken within that amount of time. A new calibration should overwrite the old one,” Adam said with a shrug.

I glanced at Sans, “And if it doesn’t?”

The young man sighed. “It’s _possible_ that without a full reboot the previous human the collar attuned to will be able to override your commands. Aside from that there’s not much risk.”

I nodded and considered. It seemed like an acceptable risk to me. If whoever had last done this was seven months in the past, I was fairly certain they were no longer an issue. Especially given the stack of paperwork in my bag.

“Alright then, what do I need to do?”

“You’ll need to prick your finger, and put a drop of blood into the inlet on the HPD.” Adam turned toward Sans, his eyes focused on the collar again. He motioned to the device. “Do you mind if I … ?”

I looked to Sans, since it was his personal space Adam would be invading. The skeleton shrugged. “Do what you need to, pal.”

Adam nodded and reached for the thickest part of the collar, where the lights and electronics of the device were. He pulled off a rubber protective cover, revealing a pinhole.

“This is the inlet. You put a drop of blood here and the light will blink red as it processes. If everything goes okay the green light will come on for about thirty seconds. That means the collar is calibrated.”

Adam let go of the collar and waved at the objects on the desk.

“I can talk you through the process if you want,” he offered. I nodded and we began.

I cleaned my finger with an alcohol wipe, then put the lancing device against my skin. I took a deep breath and pushed the button, flinching at the _click_ as the spring released.

There was a brief spark of pain, but it was less than I expected. I moved the lancing device away to see a droplet of blood growing from the tiny wound.

“Perfect,” Adam said. “Now all you need to do is put that against the inlet on the HPD.”

I put my bleeding finger against the pinhole Adam had exposed and watched the lights of the collar blink. Only when the light turned solid green did I pull my hand away. I covered the pinhole back up as I moved.

“And that’s it!” Adam said with a warm smile. “You’ll want to do this every four to six months, as long as you have the monster. I can give you some one-time-use lancets as well. They’re not as nice as this one, but they’ll work. Do you have any questions for me?”

I frowned, since I had a thousand questions but I didn’t know if Adam would be able to answer any of them. I didn’t know which were the most important.

He pulled me from my thoughts with a quick noise.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” He turned back to his computer and turned the monitor fully toward me. “It takes up to a day for the database to update, but you can check the status of the calibration here. It’s _really_ important to keep up to date. If you don’t, the monster can be repossessed. You might have to pay fines to get him back.”

I nodded since that lined up with what I read earlier.

Adam began to clean up, ejecting the used lancet into a sharps bin. I considered the questions I had about the collar and this calibration.

“What exactly does this calibration do?”

“The _result_ is that the monster’s magic will resonate with _your_ SOUL,” Adam explained He frowned apologetically at me. “I don’t honestly know _how_ it works, but it means your commands get a higher priority than, say, mine.”

“So … “

“So say I were to tell … Sans, you said his name was?” I nodded and Adam continued. “Say I were to order Sans, ‘Do a thousand jumping jacks.’ If you had told your monster to not do _any_ extraneous activity, the command would be ignored. Or if you came over and told him to stop, that would override _my_ order. If the calibration wasn’t in place, the priority of commands would be determined through other means.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Intent,” Adam said as he pulled something out of the file cabinet in the corner and I rolled my eyes in frustration. “You might think of that as _will_. Whichever person has a stronger _will_ would win. Does that make sense?”

“I think so?” I said. It was still too fuzzy for my liking, but I thought I understood what he meant. I would need to keep the collar attuned properly. That way none of this conversation would matter, since my _will_ would override anyone else.

I tried to sort through my thoughts again, attempting to figure out what else I wanted to ask. I couldn’t think of anything else. My mind was suddenly completely blank.

I frowned as I realized there was visual snow creeping into the corners of my vision.

I needed to leave before the flickering lights made this any worse.

“I think that’s everything for now,” I said.

Adam nodded and handed me a plastic bag, like what I used to get at the dentist when I was a kid.

“Here’s some single use lancets and my card. If you have any more questions about the HPD, feel free to call or email,” he said. I took the ‘goodie bag’ from him and glanced inside, seeing exactly what he said was in there.

I slid it into my messenger bag with a nod.

“Thanks, Adam,” I said, trying to disguise my growing uneasiness.

He led Sans and I back to the entryway and wished us well as we left.

I forced myself to walk, not run, from the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Grocery shopping and a thrift store
> 
> \---
> 
> I planned to get the entire day out in one chapter, but then it felt like it was getting rather long. So I split it into two chapters instead. I'll try to get the next one out soon.


	11. Aura and Abby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Migraines are rarely convenient.
> 
> Theresa hears some truth bombs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: None that I'm aware of. Are prodrome and aura things that are triggers for people?

I winced against the afternoon sunlight as we left the government building. I dug my sunglasses out of my bag, hoping the shade would buy me some time before the aura became a full migraine.

There was a bottle of pills in my bag for this, but until I had pain they wouldn’t help.

I found myself wishing the pain would hit so I could take them and get it over with.

Sans and I walked back to my car in silence, the monster following me like a gloomy shadow. He was even more withdrawn now and I could only attribute it to the fact that I had calibrated the collar.

He was mad at me.

He had every right to be.

I turned on the car and pulled out my phone to tap the address into the GPS, before realizing I wasn’t entirely certain where I should go next.

Groceries were important, vital even. But I knew I had enough food to last one more week, even if it would be a week of rice and instant noodles. Unhealthy and lacking in most major food groups, but it was food.

Although, I frowned to myself, I was completely out of fresh produce, and my lunch supplies were nearly gone as well.

I knew the grocery store well, and with my list in hand I was confident I could get my shopping done within an hour. I knew _exactly_ where to go and what to pick up. The biggest hurdle would be checking out.

However, getting Sans some new clothes was also important. Aside from general hygiene, I knew it sucked to wear the same thing every day. I had budgeted two hours to get him outfitted. Time to find clothes, try them on, and purchase them.

Of course, that assumed Sans wasn’t too picky about what he wore. If he was it could take a _lot_ longer.

I hoped he wasn’t too picky and stuck with my initial time estimate.

Three hours.

Three hours and we would be home.

I could do that, aura or not.

Still … which was _more_ important? Groceries or clothes?

If I could only get through _one_ errand, which was my top priority?

I set my GPS to my usual supermarket.

I was glad Sans wasn’t in a talkative mood. I wasn’t either. I didn’t want conversation with how my head was feeling.

I also didn’t want to drive in silence.

I turned on the radio and set it to a classic rock station, hoping I would have a decent chance of knowing the songs and being able to hum along.

I glanced over to check my mirrors and see that the skeleton had buckled his seatbelt.

As I pulled my car out of the parking spot I hoped I could complete everything before the migraine hit.

A girl could hope.

. . . . .

**Aura**

As I pulled into the supermarket parking lot I cursed past-me for the hundredth time. I shouldn’t have had coffee yesterday. At the time I had been desperate for the caffeine boost, but now that I was suffering I didn’t feel the trade-off had been worth it.

I parked and got out of the car, pulling my list from my bag.

My hands were shaking. I glanced over at Sans, considering asking him for help.

Guilt washed over me, settling in the now-familiar pit in my stomach. How could I ask him for help when I was dragging him everywhere on _my_ errands?

“Hey, I forgot to ask - Are you okay coming with me for all of this? I could take you home, if you wanted.”

Sans shrugged at me and I frowned at him in annoyance. The silent treatment was getting old.

“Sans. I don’t want to make you do things you don’t want to do. If you’d rather go home, you should tell me,” I said, letting my frustration bleed into my tone.

“We’re already here,” he said with another shrug. “Let’s just do this.”

I sighed, unable to argue with that logic. I wondered if he would have said differently if I had thought to ask him earlier.

My stomach was in knots from the calibration. I was second and triple-guessing myself about it. I wondered if I could have figured out a better way to keep the skeleton safe without making him feel _owned_.

I wanted to protect him, keep him safe.

He probably wanted to protect himself, not rely on some stupid human girl like me to do it for him.

 _I_ wouldn’t want to rely on me.

I shook my head, pushing my thoughts aside as I grabbed a cart and we entered the store.

Even with my sunglasses on my symptoms worsened as we worked through my list.

Frustratingly there was still no pain.

In the produce section my vision doubled and bright spots flickered in and out of existence. I ignored it as best I could, stopping and closing my eyes as I leaned against the display, waiting for the worst to pass.

I hoped Sans would think I was just serious about finding the best five pound bag of potatoes.

As we walked by the aisle labeled Ethnic Foods I noticed a display of Monster food. I paused, having never paid much attention to it before.

“Hey, Sans? Do you like any of this stuff?” I asked. “Or … is there anything you need? I never thought to ask if you can eat human food.”

Sans shrugged but came around the cart to look at the display. “It’s not as good as monster food, but it’s fine. Won’t make me sick or anythin’.”

I skimmed over the shelves, eventually grabbing a bag of monster candy. The one I kept at home was running low, and I liked keeping it around. As I turned back around I noticed a tin labeled Magic Powder.

“What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.

It looked like a tin of hot chocolate or instant coffee. I flipped it around in my hands.

No ingredient list, but it claimed to be safe for humans to eat.

Sans glanced at the tin before returning his black-socket stare to the shelves. “It’s a food additive. Makes human food easier for monsters to digest,” he explained.

I checked the price, tallied my budget in my head, and added it to the cart.

“What’s the difference between human and monster food, anyway?” I asked.

“Magic,” Sans said as he turned around empty-handed. “They don’t have anything I like.”

I rolled my eyes at his non-answer and continued on. We had more groceries to get.

The bright spots lingered longer and longer each time they flashed across my vision. I compensated by relying on other clues for what I needed to get. They weight, shape, and location of items, along with half-visible hints on packaging was enough for me to hide my growing disability.

At least, until I got to the pasta and realized I couldn’t read any of the package labels. Half my vision was a bright blur while the other was doubled and distorted.

I squinted at the box in my hand, as thought that would make the letters clearer.

I was almost _certain_ it was lasagna. But I couldn’t feel the shape and the packaging was the same as the boxes for all the other types of noodles.

“Fuck,” I muttered as I glanced at Sans. The monster was a blue and black blur leaning against the shelves on the other side of the aisle.

I held the box out to him with a sigh. “Can you tell me what kind of noodles these are?”

He took a step forward, accepting the package from me.

“Lasagna?” he asked. I wondered if he thought I was trying to play a trick on him.

“Is it whole grain?” I asked.

Sans was silent long enough that I figured he didn’t understand my question.

“Uh … are the noodles brown or white?” I asked.

“White?” he said, sounding even more uncertain. “Or at least … they aren’t brown.”

“Could you see if you can find some of the brown ones?” I asked. “They’re supposed to be healthier.”

“Why can’t you get it yourself?” Sans asked as he moved to put the package back. I leaned against the cart when it seemed like he was doing as I asked.

“Four boxes, if you find it. Please. Oh! And whole wheat spaghetti noodles would be great, too.”

I smirked as I thought of how to answer his question. “Wow, I’ve gone this long without you realizing I’m _terribly_ illiterate? I guess I pass better than I thought!”

Sans turned to me with an unreadable expression and I snorted.

“I’m joking,” I said. I looked away and ran a hand through my hair, feeling awkward. “I’m … having trouble seeing at the moment. I can’t read the boxes, or see the pictures on them.”

“That’s … not good?” Sans said, concern obvious in his voice.

Enough concern that I blinked in surprise. Why was he worried about _me_?

I tried to hide my shock behind a shrug and a wave of my hand. “It happens sometimes, I’ll be fine. It usually goes away in an hour or two.”

I felt self-conscious under his concern. I didn’t want him worrying over me, so I didn’t mention that when my vision was better I wouldn’t actually be in better shape.

I could take my medication when that happened.

He wouldn’t even notice.

“Usually?”

I nodded as Sans put some boxes in the cart. He was more careful with them than I expected, placing them gently so the noodles wouldn’t break.

“Yeah, usually,” I said. I glanced at the list in my hand and tried to remember what was on it. Before I could even try to focus it was pulled out of my hands.

“If you can’t _see_ why are you trying to _read_?” Sans asked. He looked at the list. “How do you even read this normally? Next on the list is Pasta Sauce, then Beans.”

“Sauce is right there,” I said, pointed to the shelves behind him. “Beans are a couple aisles over.”

Five minutes later I was reaching for a bag of Goldfish crackers and my vision went black as my legs gave out from under me. I stumbled into the shelf, desperately grabbing onto it as I tried to regain my balance and catch my breath.

My heart was beating hard and fast with the sudden burst of adrenaline.

“Whoa!” Sans shouted, suddenly beside me to help keep me upright. “You okay?”

I tried to shrug out of his grasp, uncomfortably aware of how close he was to me. I couldn’t manage it, not with my arms weak and shaky and my nervous system going haywire.

I growled softly in frustration. I _didn’t_ want him worrying over me.

 _I don’t have a choice_.

“No,” I admitted. “I’m … really not. Can you help me find somewhere to sit?”

Sans made a noise of agreement and helped me back to the front of the store where there were benches. I collapsed when he let me go and dropped my head into my hands with a groan of frustration.

“Are you _sure_ this is normal?” Sans pressed. I looked over at him, glad my vision had somewhat returned, even if it was still unfocused.

At least I had sight in both eyes again.

The skeleton looked so worried, the bone between his eye sockets knit together in concern.

Concern for _me_.

 _Why was he worried about_ me _?_

I looked away, leaning my head back against the brick wall and closing my eyes.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I said. “ _I’m_ fine.”

“Kid, you just passed out in the cookie aisle. You’re sweaty, your hands are _freezing_ ,” he said. “That doesn’t sound like ‘fine.’ Are you sick? Do you need a doctor or somethin’?”

I shook my head and immediately regretted it as the movement made my stomach churn.

Great, now I was getting nausea.

Still no pain.

“I’m not sick, not like you’re thinking,” I muttered as I shifted again, propping my head on my hands, elbows on my knees. “I don’t know if monsters get these, but you ever heard of a migraine?”

“A bad headache, right?” Sans asked.

“More or less,” I said as I waved a hand from side to side. “I get them sometimes. I have a few triggers.” I counted them off on my fingers as I named them. “Stress, lack of sleep, poor diet, _no_ diet, caffeine … ” I glared up at the store lights. “Fluorescent lights.”

I dropped my head back into my hands, eyes closed against my palms.

I was out of options.

I’d _been_ out of options for a while.

I had just been in denial.

I couldn’t finish my errands like this. Not with my legs barely supporting my weight, not with my vision so blurry I couldn’t read.

Even if I _could_ manage to finish shopping and get everything to my car, I couldn’t drive. I didn’t even think I could walk the half mile to my apartment, let alone climb three flights of stairs.

I dismissed the idea of asking Sans to drive. Monsters were required to have special certifications to operate anything more complex than a bicycle. The certificates were notoriously difficult to obtain.

As far as I knew there were only a handful of monsters allowed to drive. _All_ of them were owned by taxi companies.

I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket with a sigh, unlocking it and holding it out to Sans.

“You know how to work a phone, right?”

“Uh, yeah? I’ve been using yours all week.”

I shrugged, uncertain why I had even asked.

“Can you go to the contacts and find the name ‘Abby’? It’s spelled with two As, to keep it near the top,” I said.

Sans made an affirmative sound and took the device from my hand. I noticed he was careful not to touch me directly. I relaxed as best I could while I waited, but nervous, anxious energy had me shifting positions every few seconds.

I hated feeling like this.

“Found her, now what?” he asked after a moment.

“Send her a text saying ’S-O-S Migraine,’ ” I said. “She’ll know what it means.”

After a moment Sans asked, “She wants to know where we are?”

“Open the Maps app, that should have a way of sharing our location,” I said. I waited moment before continuing. “I can do it if you can’t figure it out. I can’t remember well enough to explain, but I think I have the muscle memory to-”

“She’s on her way,” Sans said, cutting me off.

“Oh!” I startled. I turned away from him, feeling awkward. “Thanks.”

He tapped my arm and put my phone back in my hand. I was about to slip it back into my pocket when I changed my mind.

“It’s gonna be a bit. If you want to play a game or something, you can,” I offered.

Sans was silent for a moment before taking my phone back. I sighed and dropped my hand. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Sans asked, confusion clear in his voice.

Right, he had no idea why I was suddenly apologizing.

“For dragging you out on our one day off. For getting a migraine. For calibrating the collar. For … For being … like this,” I said with a wave at myself.

It wasn’t enough. There was so much more.

I had an ever growing sense of guilt that had begun when I accepted him as a _bribe_. It grew every time our relationship was mentioned.

Every time I had to demonstrate my ownership of him.

I was sorry that I owned him.

That he was stuck with someone as useless as me.

“I’m sorry we won’t be able to get you clothes today,” I said, annoyed at how stupid I sounded.

It wasn’t enough, but I couldn’t say anything else. Guilt and self-hatred blocked my tongue and throat.

It wasn’t bad enough that I was a slave owner.

Of course not.

I had to be the shitty owner who couldn’t even find time to get her slave basic necessities. Like _clothes_.

I was the worst.

Sans shifted on the bench next to me, but I didn’t open my eyes to see why.

I was tired. So very tired.

I rested my head in my hands and groaned.

At least this time there was no static in my ears.

. . . . .

**Abby**

My sister and I are opposites in every way.

On my best days I look like I just rolled out of my bed and threw on whatever was clean. She never looks less than perfect.

I’m short and dark, taking after the abuela that I’d met a grand total of three times in my entire life.

Abby is _gorgeous_. She’s glamorous without being showy. Tall and imposing, she commands the room when she enters. She got her looks from our mother’s side, all golden hair and blue eyes.

When Abby left home she didn’t just blossom into herself, she _flourished_.

I loved her.

The best thing about her is how I feel whenever I’m near her. That I’m safe and protected.

Wanted.

Loved.

She’s commanding in a way that isn’t domineering. She says to do something and it is always the _right thing to do_. People fall over themselves to follow her instruction.

“List,” she demanded, hand out for it, as soon as she found me on the bench by the store entrance.

I took the list from Sans, who was staring at her dumbly, and handed it to her.

“Hi,” I said, with a bob of my head.

Abby held the list out to the side for her husband to take, and I frowned as I realized what she was doing.

“Wait, I have - ”

“Nope. No arguments from you,” Abby said with a hand up to silence me.

“Hey there, Tess,” Xander said warmly. “Don’t worry about this, I got it.”

I frowned but relented. There was no arguing with Abby when she made up her mind, and it wasn’t like _I_ could finish my shopping.

“I abandoned a half-filled cart in the cracker and cookie aisle, it should still be there,” I said. “Thank you.”

Xander nodded and gave Abby a small kiss before disappearing further into the store to do my errands.

Abby looked down at me and I looked up, trying to focus on her blurry form.

“Let’s get you home,” she said with a smile. “Keys?”

I nodded and fished my keys from my bag, dropping them into my sister’s waiting hand. I shifted my feet under me to stand, and Sans moved to my side to help.

Abby frowned at him and looked at me. “Are you okay to walk?”

I waved Sans away and got to my feet, testing my legs. I was still wobbly, with a heavy numbness that disconnected my brain from my feet, but I could walk.

I nodded.

“It’s mostly visual,” I said, waving a hand in front of my face. “Double vision, blind spots, bright spots.”

I heard Sans make a noise of disapproval so I quickly added. “I do have weakness in my legs and some dizziness, that sort of thing. But I can walk.”

“Have you taken anything?”

I started to shake my head before remembering why I _really_ shouldn’t, I put a hand to my mouth as I waited for the nausea to pass.

“I’m not supposed to until there’s pain. This is all prodrome and aura.”

Abby made an affirmative huff and turned to leave. Before I followed her I stopped to look where her husband had disappeared into the store. If he was still visible I couldn’t make him out among the various blurry figures.

“I should give Xander some money to pay for all that.”

Abby waved a hand in dismissal. “If you want to make it up to us, come visit more often. Or introduce me to your friend.”

I blinked, suddenly realizing I hadn’t done that.

Abby had done what she did best - entered a situation and immediately taken charge. It was a skill I had never learned, and was something I greatly admired in her.

It served her well.

“My car is parked down aisle … L?” I said, trying to remember.

“I,” Sans said. “There’s not an L.”

Abby nodded and turned int hat direction before repeating, “So, who _is_ your friend?”

I sighed, not prepared to have this conversation now as I tried to focus on walking and not tripping over my own shadow.

“His name is Sans,” I explained, “He’s my roommate. Moved in last week.”

Abby made a thoughtful hum but didn’t say anything as we got to my car. She unlocked it, opening the back door so I could lay down for the brief ride home.

Sans paused for a moment, uncertain of where he should go.

Abby smiled widely at him. “You get shotgun. Hop in!”

They both settled into the front seats.

Abby immediately had to reposition the driver’s seat to accommodate her height.

“Who drives this normally? A child?” she teased, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “Is this a car for ants?”

“Ha. Ha.” I snarked back at her. “Not my fault you got the Frostgiant genes and I ended up a dwarf.”

“You’re more like a halfling. Or a gnome,” Abby said with a smile. “You just need one of those pointy red hats and you’d fit right in.”

She adjusted the rearview mirror and our eyes met as I shifted to lay down.

“It’s good to see you, Angel,” she said, her voice gentle and soothing. “Let’s go home.”

Abby parked in my usual spot and helped me out of the car. She had a contemplative look on her face as she watched me sway on my feet.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to handle the stairs,” she declared after a moment.

“I’ll be fi- ”

“Nope. You’re wobbling more than a newborn calf,” she said. She knelt down, her back to me. “Come on, it’s piggyback time.”

“Abby,” I whined.

“Just do it,” she said.

I climbed onto her back with a sigh, but I was secretly relieved. I wasn’t entirely certain I could manage the stairs with my numb legs and reeling head.

Abby carried me down the stairs of the parking garage and back up the stairs to my apartment. Not once did she complain about the number of stairs or my extra weight on her back. She wasn’t even breathing hard when we got to the door.

“Can you get to your room?” she asked as she unlocked the apartment, stepping aside to let Sans in first.

“Yeah,” I said as I took my keys from her.

“Go lay down, I’ll bring you something to drink.”

I shouldered off my jacket in the doorway and dropped my bag off the side of my bed and gratefully collapsed.

My relief was short lived as I glared at my window. The sun was at the perfect angle to reflect off the windows across the street, sending the glare of the afternoon sun directly into my eyes.

I had blackout curtains but now that I was laying down I didn’t think I could get up again. Or across the room.

Before I could seriously contemplate getting back up, Abby was there. She handed me a water bottle and then turned to pull down the curtains, blocking out the intruding light. I turned on my lamp, bathing the room in a mellow incandescent glow.

I pulled myself up enough to settle into the corner, giving Abby space to join me on the bed.

“Need anything else?” she asked as she sat next to me.

I took a sip of water and gave her the tiniest shake of my head.

“I’m fine. Given time, darkness, and quiet I’ll be okay.”

Abby looked me over with concern, her stare lingering at my bared arms. I squirmed, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. I grabbed a pillow to hug to my chest, and pulled a blanket over my shoulders, hiding my arms from view.

She got the hint and looked toward the door instead.

“Tell me about him,” she encouraged. She turned back to me, smile wide and eyes bright. “Tell me about Sans.”

Her eyes held no judgement, no hate, no disappointment. None of what I felt toward my self. Instead they were curious, filled with a desire to understand. I looked away, unable to meet her eyes with my own.

“It happened last week, after I visited mom,” I explained. “I was just so … so _angry_ at her. I didn’t want to come home and stew in it, so I went to Solar’s.”

At the name she flinched. A grimace flickered across her face, there and gone in a blink. Abby looked at me, concern furrowing her brow. “I wish you wouldn’t hang around Apollo.”

“I mostly don’t,” I said. “I mostly go there because there’s a monster working the bar. He’s nice. Friendly. I like talking to him.”

Abby still looked uncomfortable, so I continued. “I maybe see Apollo once every couple of weeks. He isn’t there very often, not out front at least. Even when he is, I barely talk to him.”

She let out a conflicted groan, but didn’t press the issue. Instead she just caught my eyes with hers.

“Be careful around him, alright?”

I nodded and wondered where this was coming from. Abby and Apollo had never been close, but they had been friends once. They had gone to and graduated high school in the same class. It was how I knew him.

“Anyway,” I said, looking away again. “I was on my way to Solar’s when I started feeling weird. It was like an aura but I never got a migraine, and it only lasted a few minutes. I walked right by the bar. Didn’t even see it.”

I frowned, recalling how disorienting the moment had been, wondering why I had an episode like that. “When I stopped, I was in the middle of a fight.”

Abby’s hand flew to her mouth as she made a sound of protest.

I held up my hands defensively, letting the pillow flop forward and the blanket fall from my shoulders. “I didn’t _mean_ to, it just … happened? There was a crowd and I somehow managed to get to the middle of it.”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself for the next part of the story. “There was an old guy beating on Sans with his cane.”

My chest rekindled the ashes of the white-hot rage that I had felt during the fight. “He _ordered_ Sans to stay still. To take the beating. The collar accepted it.”

I saw Abby’s hands and jaw clench in anger. She couldn’t stand seeing the defenseless take a beating.

“Sans was going to get hurt so … I stepped in. I grabbed the old guy’s cane. He spun around and sucker punched me.”

I motioned to the mostly-healed bruise on my cheek. Abby hadn’t mentioned it, so I assume she hadn’t noticed it. Her eyes narrowed as I continued.

“He gave me Sans to stop me from calling the cops on him, pressing charges for assault.” I looked away, ashamed. “I accepted. I … I didn’t want to leave Sans with some bastard who would beat him on the street. Who wouldn’t let him defend himself.”

I had taken my fair share of beatings, but I had never been unable to defend myself. I had _always_ had the option to try to protect myself.

I was never so helplessly defenseless.

The thought was terrifying. Horrifying on a visceral level.

I shuddered and bundled my pillow back up to bury my face in it. I didn’t want Abby to see the tears stinging my eyes.

“And now I own a _slave_ ,” I cried, the words catching in my throat as I choked them out, voice thick with misery and regret.

“I’m no better than mom.”

Abby stared at me as my words sank in, processing the full meaning. Before I could protest her arms were around me, pulling me into a tight embrace, crushing the pillow and me against her chest.

I tensed against the touch, fighting the urge to push her away, to escape her hold.

Then … the dam broke.

I stiffly returned the hug, trying desperately to stop my tears, to somehow hide them from her.

A week’s worth of guilt, regret, and self-loathing had been set free. I couldn’t stop.

Abby waited for a lull in my quiet sobbing before whispering, “You are _nothing_ like her, Angel. _Nothing_.”

She pulled away, smiling at me in apology for invading my space. I rubbed at my arms, looking away and unable to stop the tears.

Abby looked at her hands, tracing the lines on her palms with her eyes. It was something she did when she was thinking about something, trying to decide the best order to the put the words in.

I wondered what she was trying to figure out.

We sat in silence for a moment or two as I regained control of my tears. When I was finally able to breathe normally she spoke, her voice calm and soft. Gentle, like when she would talk Jamie down from a tantrum years ago.

“What have you actually done to Sans?”

I blinked at her, confused and off balance from the question.

Wasn’t it obvious?

“I … _I_ _own him_ , Abby.”

She tilted her head for a moment, before giving it a little shake. “No, that’s not what I mean. I want to know what _specific_ _actions_ you have taken against him. How have you exerted your authority over him? Do you beat him? Order him around? Tell me what _exactly_ you have done to cause Sans harm?”

I blinked at her again, frowning. “I … I control his entire life now. _Everything_. He has no agency and it’s _my fault_.”

Abby shook her head. “No, it’s not. Angel, if you vanished from existence what about _his situation_ would change? Do you think he would be better off, or worse?” You are _not_ the problem. The _system_ is the problem.”

I didn’t respond and she sighed and looked back toward the door.

“What choices should you have made differently?” she asked. “Should you have come home instead of going to Solar’s?”

I shrugged, “It’d probably be a good idea for me to save money.”

She rolled her eyes with an annoyed huff. “You know that’s not what I meant. Was it _morally wrong_ to go to Solar’s?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Was it wrong to stop a fight in the street?”

“No..”

“Then was it wrong to try to help someone out of a volatile, dangerous, _violent_ situation?”

“ … No,” I said with a frown. “But it _was_ wrong for me to accept Sans as a _bribe_! Like … like he’s an object that can be traded around!”

Abby wobbled her hand back and forth. “Perhaps, but what was the other option? You press charges against the man and Sans … what? Goes back home with a violent human who is willing to beat him _in public_? Or perhaps he would be better off at a dealer. Or an auction house! Just waiting to be sold off to someone even worse. Or you’ve heard of the black market slave trade. You _know_ how easy it would be for him to end up there.” She sighed and looked back at me, reaching her hands out but not pushing for anything.

“Theresa, you need to stop thinking about this in black and white. Life has _nuance_ , Angel. Stop thinking about the labels society imposes _on you_. Stop thinking of Sans as a slave. Stop thinking of _yourself_ as a slave owner. That’s how mom thinks. How Apollo thinks.”

“ _How_!?” I demanded, more venom and volume to my voice than I meant. “He _is_ a slave. I _am_ a slave owner. He’s my _property_! I can’t … I can’t just … ignore that.”

Abby frowned at me, disappointment finally darkening her eyes. “I didn’t know you believed the government had the power to take away the basic personhood of sentient beings. _You_ have asserted, for _years_ , that the government cannot claim ownership of these people. That their claim of that power is unjust and invalid, no matter what the law says.”

She put a hand under my chin, guiding me to raise my head without touching me. Our eyes met and the disappointment was gone, replaced with unconditional love. “Why are you letting _them_ decide who and what _you_ are? What _you_ do?”

I stared at her as the words embedded themselves in my brain.

“The government that says _you’re_ a slave owner is the _same government_ that said I was a boy for most of my life,” Abby said. “But we _both_ know I’ve always been your big sister, right?”

I nodded and she smiled warmly at me.

“Do you truly believe you can _own_ another person?” she asked.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

“I didn’t think so. If you don’t believe you can own another person, you shouldn’t feel guilty and berate yourself for doing so. _Forget the labels_. Forget what other people have defined and labeled this as.”

She thought for a moment before asking, “What do you want from Sans?”

“I don’t want anything from him,” I said.

“What do you want _for_ him?”

I blinked at her, caught off guard.

I chewed my lip as I considered the question.

“I … I want him to be safe from abuse. I want him to have a home and food and everything he needs to survive. I want him to live. I want him to thrive. I want him to be happy,” I felt more confident as I spoke, the list getting longer the more I thought about it. “I want him to not have to worry that he’s going to be forced to do something he doesn’t want. I want him to have the autonomy to do what he wants.”

I looked away as I realized the simplest, fullest answer to her question.

“I want him to be free.”

“Do you think mom would answer the same? What about Apollo?”

I shook my head.

“ _That_ is what makes you different from mom. From Apollo. From the majority of slave owners,” she said gently. “You don’t want Sans to do anything for _you_. You want to help him live his own life.”

I felt my chest swell with something like hope as I considered her words.

_Maybe I’m not a bad person?_

Abby looked back to the door with a chuckle. “Your situation reminds me of my clients, in some ways.”

“How does _this_ remind you of _work_?” I asked, tilting my head in confusion.

“Sans is disadvantaged. He is in a society that doesn’t accept his right to self-determination, instead giving that responsibility to you,” she explained. “That’s not so different from the children I help. You’re like a guardian ad litem. _You_ are his legal representation. Your _job_ is to ensure that Sans is treated fairly, both in the eyes of society, and in the eyes of the law. To make sure he has as much autonomy as possible.”

I looked to the door with a frown. “How do I do that?”

Abby stared at me for a moment before letting out a snort. A surprised huff that quickly devolved into whole-hearted, head-thrown-back belly laughs that brought tears to her eyes.

I shifted further into my corner, confused and uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, Angel,” she said as her laughter died down to persistent giggles. “It’s been so long … sometimes I forget that you’re one of the smartest morons I’ve ever known.”

I pouted, annoyed and frustrated that I was missing the joke.

I felt like a little kid, not able to keep up with her cool big sister. It was uncomfortably familiar.

Abby settled down and took a few breaths, calming herself. “The way you do that is by _talking to him_ ,” she said, emphasizing the words. I rolled my eyes, a thousand arguments coming to mind. “Whenever you can, you should delegate decisions about _his life_ to _him_. When you can’t, you should make the decision you think he would want you to make. Or the decision that is best for him.”

“He _won’t_ talk to me,” I argued.

“Then keep trying. Treat him like a person. A broken, scarred, _scared_ person who has been screwed by the system. A person who is _in your care_.” She put a hand near my cheek, not quite touching me, just offering. I leaned into the touch, and we both softened a little. “He’ll come to see you as the wonderful person you are. It just might take some time.”

I leaned against her hand, trying to come up with another argument, something I could say to _prove_ I was in the wrong.

But she was right.

It was a shitty, fucked-up situation that _none_ of us wanted to be a part of.

I had been given more control over Sans’ life than I wanted, than I was comfortable with. The system declared he was unfit to have that autonomy.

 _The system was wrong_.

But it was the system we were in.

I needed to make the best of it. I needed to make sure Sans had the best he could, until the system changed.

Abby smiled at me, “There’s the fighter I know. There’s my Angel.”

I smiled back at her, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders and the pit in my stomach shrink.

I wanted to do better. I wanted to make things right.

Abby pulled away from me, a serious look on her face. “Every time you call yourself a ‘slave owner,’ you are endorsing the system as legitimate,” she said. “I’m ashamed to hear you say it. _Reject their illegitimate authority_.”

“I will,” I said with a nod that set off a small spark of pain behind my eyes. “I _do_.”

“Good,” she said with a gentle, soft smile. My favorite smile. She stood and stretched. “My dear Xander should be here soon, if he hasn’t made it already. We’ll get your groceries sorted and then head back home. Is there anything else you need? How’s your head?”

I had been so involved in the conversation that I hadn’t noticed the aura fading.

I also hadn’t noticed the pain growing,

“It’s starting to hurt,” I admitted. “I’ll take some painkillers and go to sleep.”

I shuffled around in my bag for the pill bottle before glancing back up at her as she reached for the door. “Um … could you also make sure Sans has something to eat? He’s probably vanished into his room - I don’t know which one - but if you call for him he’ll usually appear.”

“I’d be glad to,” Abby said with a bright smile. “Get some rest, and tomorrow make sure you _talk to him_. Even if he doesn’t talk back.”

I nodded, wincing as another explosion of pain burst behind my eyes.

“I will. Thanks, Abby. For everything.”

She ruffled my hair, much like I had done to James a few hours before.

“Of course, what else are big sisters for?”

I smiled as she left the room, noting that she remembered to lock it behind her. I took a pill and popped it into my mouth, grimacing as it dissolved on my tongue.

The relief was worth it, but damn did these things taste nasty.

I turned off my lamp, undressing in the dark. I was too exhausted to bother changing into actual pajamas, so I curled up in bed in my t-shirt and panties.

I double checked my morning alarms before cuddling into my nest of blankets.

For the first time in a week I felt … okay.

 _I am a good person_.

 _I am going to_ prove it _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: A mystery!
> 
> \---
> 
> So Theresa finally gets the reframing she needs. The question is, will she actually take her sister's advice and _talk to the skeleton?_ Who knows?!
> 
> \---
> 
> The migraine aura Theresa suffers from is based on my own migraines. My triggers include much of what she listed (particularly caffeine, not eating, and poor sleep, which is great with my ADHD), but I also have issues with heat. Summer is ... horrible for me. I often feel like I need to move somewhere colder. I am the ice queen. I melt every summer.
> 
> Hey, isn't it great that it's almost June and I live in the northern hemisphere?
> 
> \---
> 
> I assume that Theresa takes the same medication I do for her migraines, simply because i know how it works. The medication is Rizatriptan, if you're curious. It comes in a few types, but I get the kind that dissolve. You're only supposed to take it if you have pain, it doesn't do anything for aura.


	12. Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions boil over and Terra and Sans have a conversation.
> 
> They should have had this conversation a lot sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: Arguments, Anxiety, Accusations that Terra is using Sans for fetish purposes (unfounded)

I smacked the snooze button with a groan, silencing the blaring of my alarm.

My migraine wasn’t gone.

I forced myself into a sitting position, doing my best to ignore how my head pulsed in agony at the movement. Without looking I grabbed the bottle of pills from my nightstand. I took another of the migraine tablets, grimacing at the taste as it dissolved on my tongue.

It tasted like a piece of chalk looked at a mint leaf once.

A decade ago.

Homeopathically minty.

It was disgusting.

I hated it, but it was better than being unable to function.

I glanced at my phone, considering calling in sick, before sliding out of bed. I could make that decision after I ate something and moved around some. Let the medication actually kick in. Maybe it would be enough.

I hoped it would be enough.

I didn’t want to risk any of my managers being angry with me. I needed the jobs I had.

 _I needed the money_.

I fumbled around in the dark, grabbing the nearest cleanish clothes I could find. Like _hell_ was I turning on a light before my medicine kicked in. I stumbled from my room, heading to the bathroom. I sped up as I passed the guest room door and remembered I was only wearing panties and a t-shirt.

The bathroom was lit by a dim nightlight, which was gentle enough on my pounding head as I considered the shower curtain.

I was tired.

I was in pain.

I _really_ didn’t want to shower.

“Prob’ly not safe, anyway. Not when I could have a dizzy spell,” I muttered to no one. I huffed a soft chuckle. “Guess I could’ve stayed in bed an extra few minutes.”

Not wanting to risk Sans seeing me half-naked, I changed clothes in the bathroom. I swapped my ratty tee for another and pulled on a mostly-clean pair of jeans.

I needed to do another load of laundry.

I made a mental note to throw it in before I left for the day.

As I turned to leave the bathroom I caught a glimpse of my reflection. The sight stopped me in my tracks.

I stared at the stranger in the mirror.

I looked like _shit_.

Not that I _ever_ looked particularly great. But the evidence of an exhausting week of guilt and stress was plain on my face.

The apparently permanent dark bags under my eyes were the least of my concern. My skin was dull, lacking any glow or luster. If I was pale, taking after my maternal side, I’d look ashen, grey. I was thinner than I remembered, my cheeks hollow and my eyes sunken.

I looked like a zombie.

More dead than the _literal skeleton_ in my home.

No wonder Abby had acted like I was made of spun glass. I _looked_ like I would shatter.

I pulled myself from my reflection and found that I was shivering. I tried to tease myself about being a narcissist, lighten my darkening mood.

It was fine.

 _I_ was _fine._

I grabbed my discarded clothes to toss back into my room. I’d deal with the laundry later. If I ended up calling out of work, I was going back to sleep. It wouldn’t be any harder to sort my clothes later, and I didn’t have the energy to spare.

I used the wall to balance and guide me as I wandered from my bedroom to the kitchen. I winced as the light from the living room blinded me, causing me to throw my free arm up in front of my eyes as they adjusted.

Sans was lying on the couch, his eyelights skimming over something in his lap. In addition to the ceiling lights he had turned on the pendant lights in the kitchen. Which were right at eye level.

I flicked the switch off, darkening the room enough that I could get around without squinting.

I rubbed at my eyes as I entered the kitchen, mumbling an apology.

“Sorry. Still got a migraine. Light is … ” I trailed off, unable to think of the appropriate word, before finishing lamely, “bright.”

I waved toward the skeleton as I stumbled to the fridge. “Mornin’, Sans.”

I reached for the handle of the fridge, wondering if I even had anything I could stomach eating.

I stopped when I saw there was a note written in my sister’s neat, exact script.

Terra -

It was very nice to meet your friend! You’ll have to bring him around sometime so I can get to know him better.

I left some food for you!

I figured you wouldn’t be up to making breakfast, so I left some plain overnight oats in the fridge. Blue container.

Lunch is in your bag, on the top shelf. It’s packed with enough for both of you.

Don’t worry about dinner, either! I’ll be over to leave something and make something that will last for a few nights.

Don’t work too hard, take care of yourself.

Put your own mask on first.

All my love, Abby

Below that was a scrawl from Xander. His handwriting was chicken scratch print next to my sister’s, small and slanted.

Tess

We miss you around the house. Get better and come see us.

X

I smiled and opened the fridge to take the oats out. I could try to eat a little, since Abby had gone to the trouble of making food for me.

Maybe it would help my nausea.

“So,” Sans said from the other side of the refrigerator door. I closed it and stared at him, somehow unsurprised and a little annoyed at his ninja skills. “What was yesterday about?”

“I had a migraine,” I said as I moved to the island to put down the bowl then moved to get some dishes from the cupboard. “Still do.”

As I was about to grab two bowls I hesitated, uncertain.

“Uh,” I started, feeling awkward as I glanced over my shoulder, not quite seeing Sans in my peripheral vision. “Do you like oatmeal?”

When he didn’t answer I withdrew my hand to turn toward him.

His black eye sockets were fixed on the countertop, refusing to look at me.

“Sa-?” I ask, but he cut me off before I could finish.

“No.”

I glanced over him, uncertain how to proceed before deciding to act normal. It was clear something was bothering him, but I didn’t want to push.

I gave him an acknowledging shrug and turned to get a bowl for myself.

“Well, assuming Xander got everything on my list we should have the stuff for toast or eggs. Or eggy toast,” I said as I spooned some of the oats into my bowl. “I … realize I don’t know if you can cook or not, but they’re all pretty simple.”

I walked by him to put the oats away.

“ _I don’t get you_ ,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

I shrugged, walking around him again to get cinnamon and sugar for my breakfast. “What’s there to get?”

I realize I’m being flippant, and I’m about to turn around and explain myself.

Sans explodes.

“What do you _want from me_?!”

I flinch away, spinning to keep him in my sight and taking a step away from him. Then I freeze, worried I’ll set him off more if I move too much.

Like a rabbit staring down a fox.

“I-” I start, but Sans cut me off.

“I don’t _get you_! You drag me to your million jobs. You tell people I’m your ‘bodyguard.’ _Am I_?”

He took another step forward. I stumbled another half step back.

I didn’t mean to, and I wince guiltily as I do.

I’m not afraid of him, not really. I don’t feel like I’m in danger.

It’s just … he looks bigger, stronger.

 _Dangerous_.

Except for a sputtering flicker of cyan and yellow in his left eye his eye sockets are dark.

When he speaks again his anger is palpable in the soft whisper. I avoid taking another step away, but only barely.

“ _You haven’t said a word to_ ** _m e_** _about what’s going on_.”

I blink as my mind swirls in fear and confusion.

His tone is wrong.

I expected the rage, red and hot.

I didn’t expect the pain and confusion that hitched at the edge of his words.

Hidden, but familiar.

“Am I supposed to work _with you_? _For_ you? _Am_ I _supposed_ to be your _bodyguard_?!”

“No,” I said as I turned around to grab the cinnamon and sugar, hoping my intuition is right and showing him my back wouldn’t aggravate him more. “I tell people you’re my bodyguard because ‘I got punched and accepted him as a bribe to not press charges for assault’ isn’t a better answer. It would lead to more questions that I don’t want to deal with.”

I’m mixing my oatmeal around a bit, stirring my additions in. Sans is watching me, and I hop onto the counter to eat while we talk.

The rage is gone, replaced with uncertainty. He looks around the room, his mouth set in a tight smile and his eye sockets dark.

Lost.

“Am I supposed to play ‘maid’ and clean up after you at night?”

I nearly choked on my oatmeal as an image of Sans in my shitty housekeeping uniform popped into my head.

I swallow, coughing and laughing and feeling like the worst person on the planet.

He asks a serious question and this is my response.

“No,” I finally managed to cough out as I tried to get my laughter under control. “I’m sorry … It’s just … I just … ” And the image is back, only this time with Sans in an outfit that wouldn’t be out of place in a maid café.

I laugh harder, putting my oats to the side while I lose it to hysterics.

“I’m just imagi- ... imagining you as a maid,” I said as the last of my giggles died down and I looked away, embarrassment taking over.

I pick up my bowl, staring the oatmeal as I try to think of what to say next.

“I’m sorry,” I say after a moment. “That was … a really dick move on my part. I just got this image in my head and I couldn’t help it. Sorry.”

I took a deep breath before looking back up, feeling horrible about how insensitive I was being.

Sans has every right to be angry at me. He’s obviously concerned, _scared_ , about this, and I hadn’t talked to him about any of it.

And when he brought up his concerns, I laughed in his face.

“I don’t expect you to be my … ” I falter as the word _maid_ threatens to reignite my laughter. “ … my _janitor_ , Sans.”

“Then _what is it_?” The skeleton demanded, slamming a fist onto the island countertop. The _bang_ of bone against stone is loud and sudden enough that I jump. I glanced up at the ceiling, concerned my neighbor would be angered by the noise. Sans noticed and lowered his voice without softening it any. “Does it get you _off_? Is that it?! Making me follow you around like a dog? Is it some sort of fucked up _fetish_?”

I choked on the last spoonful of my oats as the accusation hit me like a punch to the gut.

This breakfast would be the death of me.

“No!” I said, defensive. My chest tightened at the suggestion that I was using him as some sort of … _sex toy_. “It isn’t any-“

“Were you just waiting for me to give up and _beg?_ Is it a _power_ thing? Humans won’t put up with your shit, so you need a monster to order around?! Somebody who can’t fight back?” Sans’ voice was full of cold fury.

It snapped me out of my confusion and anxiety, bringing my anger to a boil.

“No!” I snapped, barely keeping my own volume under control. “It isn’t a fetish or something. You have been _with me_ **_every waking hour_ **of the _last week_! You _know_ why I haven’t been able to get you clothes!” I slid off the counter, taking my empty bowl to drop in the sink. “When?! _When_ would I have had a _chance to stop by the store_?”

“You have a two hour lunch break every day!”

I groan in frustration and annoyance.

If I had just acted like an _adult_ and talked to him, this fight could have been avoided.

And I was in no shape to be fighting with the skeleton.

“I saw you and Grillby knew each other,” I said as I rubbed my temples, trying to soothe my worsening migraine. So much for my medication. “I … decided to makes sure you had time to hang out with him.”

I frowned and dropped my hands. The migraine wasn’t going anywhere, and I had a choice to make.

I already knew I wasn’t calling out of work.

I _really_ couldn’t afford to.

I glanced at my oven clock and sighed at the time. “I should’ve asked you what you wanted, what _your_ priorities were. I’m sorry.” I pushed away from the sink, heading to my bedroom with a beckoning wave at Sans. “I - uh, _we_ have to get to work. I’m not blowing you off, I can explain anything you want to understand. I just … I can’t afford to be late.”

“Why do you take me with you if I’m not supposed to do your job _for you_?” he asked.

I glanced at the clothes on the floor. I was running low on time.

I would sort them when I got home.

“I can’t leave you here for more than an hour or two. Not when there’s a chance the landlady might come to check on anything suspicious. Not when you’re not on the lease.”

I replaced the medication bottle before double checking my bag. Everything was in its place.

“It’s just a precaution. It would suck for both of us if I was evicted.”

“Why haven’t you put me on the lease?”

I left my bedroom, waiting for Sans to exit before closing and locking my door. I went back to the kitchen to get the bagged lunch Abby left for us.

“Haven’t had the time,” I explained. I went to the entryway, sitting to put my shoes on. I glanced at Sans and find him zipping up his tattered hoodie, staring at me with an expression I couldn’t place. “I would have done it yesterday, but she wasn’t working. My schedule _rarely_ intersects with hers. She’s here from eight to _maybe_ two, six days a week.” I sighed as I finished tying my shoes and stood back up. “I was hoping to stop by sometime this week during lunch.”

Another check that I have everything I’ll need for the day, then I open the door. I wait for Sans to pass before I leave the apartment, pulling the door closed behind me. I fumble with my keys and the lock for a moment.

“You doin’ okay there?” Sans asked once I got the bolt to slide home.

I drop my keys in my bag with a shrug and start walking to the stairwell.

“Between me and the hamster I have a whole _two_ braincells to rub together. You have their full attention.”

Sans doesn’t respond and I realize he might not understand the “hamster” thing. I turn toward him and walk (well, stumble) backwards down the hallway.

“I’m not doing great,” I admit. I signed _headache_ , wondering if the word translated into Hands. “Still got a migraine.”

He looked at me skeptically. I wondered how he can raise an eyebrow despite lacking the necessary facial features. His face is surprisingly emotive for being something made of solid bone.

“Will you be able to work with that?”

“Don’t have much of a choice. Hopefully. Only one way to find out,” I say. I stopped walking as I passed the stairwell, opening the door for him and looking away. “I know I’m acting weird. I wish I could sit down and … talk this out over hot cocoa and Sea Tea. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of time, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now.”

Sans doesn’t respond as we begin our descent. I continue as we reach the first floor landing. “Ask me what you want to know. I’ll answer as much as I’m able, but I think I left my attention span in my other pants.”

I glance at my phone and see that I still have a decent buffer between now and when I need to get to work. I sigh in relief.

I needed Abby to make me breakfast and lunch _every_ day.

I’d be able to squeeze in at _least_ another half hour of work.

“What do you _want_ with me? _From_ me?” Sans asked, pulling me from my wandering thoughts.

“Nothing,” I said immediately. “I want exactly zero things from you. As far as I’m concerned, you are a guest in my home, and you can stay as long as you’d like. Or not.”

“So if I wanted to leave?” Sans asked as we stopped at an intersection.

I glanced at him, but he was looking straight ahead, eye sockets dark and skeletal face in a neutral grin.

“I’m not gonna stop you,” I said with a sigh. “ _Do_ you want to leave?”

The walk sign lit up and the indicator sounded, informing us that it was safe to cross. We stepped off the curb and onto the street in silence, continuing on across the city.

We were halfway down the next block when Sans finally answered.

“No.”

I couldn’t help the way my lips quirked upward in a small smile. At least I hadn’t fucked up _completely_.

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” I said. As I thought about the situation more I frowned. “I can’t free you, as much as I wish I could. But … I can try to help you find somewhere better, if you don’t want to stay.”

We continued on in silence, nearly all the way to the factory.

“What’s your plan?” Sans asked.

“Plan?” I repeated, confused. “What plan? Do I _seem_ like the kind of person who has a _plan_?”

He sighed, frustrated. He was barely restraining himself again.

“With _me_ , with _this_? Are you plannin’ to just … drag me around with you forever?”

“Of course not,” I said as we entered the factory. “Sometime this week I’ll get you on the lease, and then you can stay home. I know there’s regulations for letting you move around on your own. I want to know what they are so I can do whatever I need to in order for you to have that freedom.”

I clocked in at the computer in the foreman’s office. I gave the man a quick hello and a smile before taking the maintenance checklist.

I got under one of the conveyor belts that another employee had said was showing signs of wear. As I looked for anything loose or dangerous I continued my conversation with Sans. “My goal is for you to have as much freedom as possible, while still having the legal safety my existence grants.”

I found a loose nut and grabbed my wrench to tighten it.

“I can’t offer much, but I can give you a roof over your head, a bed, and food. I can’t treat you like a king, or half as well as you deserve, but I can treat you as my equal. If that’s good enough, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. If you want something else, ask for it. I’ll see what I can do.”

I sat up to look him eye to eye socket. “This is my first time in this situation. I’m pretty lost too,” I said. “But if you’re willing to help me, I’d like to try to figure it all out.”

Sans grunted an acknowledgement before picking up my bag and wandering off.

I went back under the conveyor belt to keep working, doing my best to focus on the work at hand.

. . . . .

Sans didn’t ask any more questions while I worked my shift, and I left him to his own devices.

Or _my_ devices, since he was on my phone for the better part of the time.

Regardless, I only had so much attention to go around. If he wasn’t asking me questions, I was going to focus on my job.

As I clocked out I checked my numbers, wincing as I saw how low they were compared to last week.

“Boss man isn’t gonna like that,” I muttered as I took my bag from Sans and left the building.

“Problem?” Sans asked as we walked.

I glanced at the park across the street before turning away, deciding to go to the one closer to my next job. I had completely spoiled myself by going there. Now the empty lot of a park wasn't good enough.

“Low numbers,” I explained. “I’ll probably get a ‘talking to’ tomorrow over it.” I sighed and shrugged, “It’ll be fine, I just need to _not fuck up_ again for a while.”

Which seemed fairly likely, now that I thought about it. I had held that job for nearly a year at this point.

It was a personal record.

Sans and I ate at the park, both of us having a full meal this time.

Sans attacked his sandwich with a viciousness that reminded me of this morning.

“You didn’t have breakfast!” I cried, hand to my mouth in shock and shame.

He shrugged as he took another bite. “Not the first time I’ve gone without a meal.”

I frowned and looked at my own sandwich with a glare. “Doesn’t really make it better,” I said. “I’m sorry that _this_ time, it was _my_ fault.”

We ate in silence for a few more moments before I glanced over, checking to see if Sans seemed awake.

“I never did ask: _Can_ you cook?”

“A bit,” he said as he opened up a bag of chips. “Enough to keep me and my bro fed.”

I nodded, ignoring the questions the conversation had raised.

I could ask them later.

“For second lunch, do you want to stop by Solar’s and chat with Grillby, or go to the thrift store?” I asked as I washed the last bite of my sandwich down with some water.

“Thrift store,” Sans said instantly.

I winced a little at his certainty. It wasn’t surprising, but I hadn’t realized it was so high a priority for him.

Then again, I realized it would be uncomfortable to walk around half naked. Even without the scandal of exposed skin.

“Sorry,” I said again, beginning to worry I was overusing the word. “For not talking to you sooner. I was … too caught up in my own head. Thanks for letting me know how _much_ I’ve been fucking this up.”

Sans didn’t respond.

I finished my lunch in silence, watching people go about their mornings.

Sans napped.

. . . . .

In the employee locker room of the hotel I changed into my work uniform. I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as another intrusive image of Sans in the outfit invaded my brain.

Sans in a tiny mini skirt, with thigh highs over his legs, but just enough bone showing to be _intriguing_. His deep baritone pitched up to a falsetto as he cried out, “Welcome home, Mistress!” like in some harem anime.

It was just too absurd.

“Navarro,” a sharp voice said, causing my laughter to die in my throat. I turned to meet my boss’ eyes, trying not to flinch away from her.

She wasn’t my direct boss, but she was the manager of the hotel, and she had the ability to fire me.

The woman was all sternness and disdain for the world around her.

I was pretty certain she was an evil cartoon librarian who fed on the souls of the innocent.

I didn’t want to interact with her more than _absolutely necessary_.

So of course she found me giggling to myself in the locker room like a crazy person.

“Yes?” I asked as innocently as I could, closing the locker with my non-work clothes inside.

“You’ve got ten rooms to do today,” she warned as she held the list up to me. “Best not waste time.”

A pit formed in my stomach as I crossed the room and took the paper.

 _Another strike_.

I picked up my bag and rushed to the lobby to get Sans and start cleaning.

Hours later my shift ended and I peaked into the manager’s office, hoping that the evil librarian was gone. Luck was with me, and my direct manager was at the desk, looking through paperwork.

I explained that I was dealing with a migraine. I went over the rooms I hadn’t been able to clean, and apologized for only finishing half of my workload.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a wave of her hand and a gentle smile. “I’m sure you did your best. Get better soon.”

“I’ll do my best!” I agreed, although we both knew that my best was ‘Do nothing but take my medication and hope it goes away.’

It wasn’t very proactive, but there wasn’t much else I could do.

I found Sans in the lobby waiting for me with my bag. I hurried over to him with a smile that I hoped hid my unease with how my day had gone so far.

“Alright Sans,” I said, fake cheer in my voice. “Let’s go shopping!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Shopping at the thrift store. What gems will Sans find?


	13. Secondhand Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What clothes can one find at a thrift store?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: Nothing

My ‘favorite’ thrift store was about the same distance from my apartment as Solar’s. In the opposite direction.

It wasn’t the best. It received all the rejects from its sister store downtown. Everything was a little more out of date, a little uglier, a little more worn and broken down.

It was my favorite only because it was the only thrift store within walking distance of my apartment.

It was where I bought nearly everything, on the rare occasions I had money to spare.

As Sans and I entered, I pulled out the cash I’d been holding on to, leafing through it to count how much remained.

“Looks like you have … a hundred fifty to spend. Go wild,” I said as I slid the bills back into my bag.

“ _ I _ have?” Sans asked, head turned just enough to glance at me over his shoulder.

“It’s the money from the asshole you were with before,” I said with a shrug as I grabbed a cart. “It’s yours, not mine. Only reason I’ve held onto it is because humans are jerks.”

Monsters weren’t ‘allowed’ to have money without permission from their owners. Sometimes even that wasn’t enough. I hadn’t wanted to risk the cash being ‘confiscated’ by someone who had an issue with monsters. Or an issue with Sans in particular.

He wouldn’t have been able to spend it anywhere anyway. Few businesses were willing to sell to a monster.

In fact, the only place I could think of that Sans  _ could _ have spent anything was Solar’s, where I paid for everything.

“Would’ve been nice to know that sooner,” Sans grumbled, and I winced at his tone.

I knew he was right. It wasn’t fair of me to keep the money without talking to him about it.

“Sorry,” I said as I began pushing the cart back to the clothes. “I know I keep acting without talking to you.”

Sans shrugged, the motion tense.

_ That’s what he’s used to _ .  _ Having no say in anything, decisions made  _ for _ him instead of  _ by  _ him _ .

I wondered when the last time he’d been able to make a choice for himself had been. Was it before the slavery legislation went into effect?

I shook my head to clear the dark thoughts, to keep them from dragging me down.

I winced as the motion rekindled the stab of my migraine. I leaned more fully on the cart as Sans began to rifle through the racks.

It seemed his interest in clothes was around the same as mine: Nearly nonexistent.

I had never been very fashionable, choosing to dress for function and comfort over style. From the growing pile of clothes, Sans had similar tastes.

He’d found gym shorts and sweat pants like the pair he already had, albeit in better shape. There was a single nice pair of jeans that I was surprised he had found. They looked almost new, a rarity for this store.

A lot of plain tee shirts in white, black, and shades of grey.

I noticed him linger on a few shirts he ultimately put back. Graphic tees with space themes, or one for a rock band I didn’t recognize with a skeleton pirate.

Which honestly looked badass. When Sans replaced it I removed it again and snapped a picture on my phone. I wanted to look the band up later.

As I was replacing the shirt I heard Sans chuckle, so I turned to see what had caught his attention. He turned it around to show me, a genuine grin on his face.

A black tee shirt with a screen print design of an Old West “Wanted” poster with the simplified profile of a cat’s face in the middle in black and white.

Across the top it said “ **WANTED DEAD & ALIVE** ” and underneath, “ **Schrödinger’s Cat** ”.

I snorted at the joke before raising an eyebrow at the monster.

“How do  _ you _ know about Schrödinger’s Cat?” I asked, stumbling a little on the name. “It seems like a pretty obscure  _ human _ concept.”

Sans shrugged as he put the shirt back and pulled out another plain tee. “Unless you wanted Mettaton’s latest ‘classic’ there wasn’t much readin’ in the Underground. Most of my books were from the Surface.”

“Mettaton?” I started to ask. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I shook my head, pointing toward the abandoned shirt. “Not important. Why’d you put it back? It seemed like you liked it.”

Sans rolled his eyelights and added another shirt to the cart, avoiding looking at me.

“Sans?” I pressed, worrying I was crossing a boundary, but wanting to understand what was going on. He was tense, clearly uncomfortable.

I was making it worse.

“What’s going on?” I pressed.

“Nothing,” He snapped. He reached back and grabbed the Schrödinger’s Cat shirt and threw it onto the pile. “Happy now?”

“Sans, I - ” I began, confused and stuttering.

I  _ was _ making it worse. I should drop the subject.

But I didn’t. “What did I do wrong? I  _ know _ I’m bad at this, but I’m trying to get better. Can we take a step back and talk about it?”

I glanced at the clothes in the cart already. Solid, plain colored tees. Black pants and jeans.

It was all nondescript, bland, with no personality. Nothing identifying or unique.

I frowned, feeling like I had the puzzle pieces but no box to reference. I was missing context.

“Why aren’t you getting anything you actually like?”

Sans let out a frustrated groan and turned to me.

“It’s easier this way,” he hissed, voice low and soft. “It’s  _ better _ .”

“Better?” I repeated, confused.

Then the puzzle pieces fell into place.

I understood.

I remembered feeling the same way.

When you had things you liked, you had things you could  _ lose _ . Things that could be taken away to hurt you.

Things that could be destroyed.

Lost forever.

When you had nothing you cared about, when you understood that nothing  _ actually belonged to you _ , when you couldn’t rely on things remaining stable …

It was better to not have anything you cared about.

I dug the cash out of my bag again, holding out for the skeleton to take.

“Here,” I said. “If you want to hold onto it. Like I said, it’s  _ yours _ . You can buy whatever you want with it.”

Sans looked from my outstretched hand to my face and then back again. He reached out, slowly and carefully, like he expected me to snatch it away at the last moment. I held it out to him until he took the folded bills and shoved them into his hoodie pocket.

I retracted my hand, rubbing at the back of my neck as I leaned against the cart.

“Anything you buy with  _ your _ money is  _ yours _ . I’m not going to take it away from you. I’m not going to tell you what to get or what not to get. If you like a shirt that has a nerdy science pun about a zombie cat, you should get it.”

Sans shrugged and went back to the racks, like he didn’t hear or care about what I said.

I pretended not to notice him backtracking to some of the shirts he had put back already.

Including the badass skeleton pirate.

“So,” I asked after the silence became uncomfortable. “You read sci-fi? You like it?”

Sans gave a single nod as he looked at another pair of gym shorts, and I filed the information away. Science fiction wasn’t my go-to genre, but I knew some good series and books that I could recommend. Maybe some of them he hadn’t read yet.

I tried to remember if I had all five books of  _ The Hitchhiker’s Guide _ trilogy on my shelves at home.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Wasn’t too picky. Couldn’t be.”

I nodded, feeling awkward for having asked. I had so many more questions - What did he  _ enjoy _ reading? What was the Underground like? - but I pushed them away.

I had already crossed too many boundaries today.

I glanced away, and saw the coats. I was reminded of Sans’ hoodie, worn and threadbare.

“Hey, you want a new jacket?” I asked, motioning to them. “You’re only getting tee shirts. I don’t want you to get … chilled to the bone.”

Sans rolled his eyes as he put another shirt in the cart.

“I’ve used that one before. More than once.” He fiddled with the zipper of his hoodie for a moment, before plunging his hands into his pockets. “I’m happy with what I’ve got. Cold goes right through me anyway.”

“Guess I shouldn’t try to outwit you with skeleton puns,” I said with a shrug and a soft chuckle. “I’ll just have to be more creative.”

We wandered the aisles for a few minutes longer before Sans stopped in front of the shoe display. His eyelights were fixated on a pair of bunny slippers well past their prime.

They might have once been fuzzy, but they were now suffering a severe case of mange. The patchy fake fur was a dingy grey-brown, and they had some suspicious dark spots.

“Who the hell thought those were okay to donate?” I muttered.

They looked like they had come back from the losing side of a war.

Sans reached out to grab them.

I shuddered at the thought of the slippers in my apartment and made a strangled noise before clapping my hand over my mouth.

Sans stopped reaching for the slippers and looked at me, contempt bare on his face.

“Thought you said it was my choice.”

I dropped my head and held up a hand, feeling like a hypocrite.

“Yeah. It’s fine if you want them, but … ” I sighed and glanced up at him before turning away. “I learned early on to not buy used footwear. Unless you’re only wearing it once or twice. Used shoes wear down fast, and they come with a bunch of problems. Athlete’s foot is a bitch … although I don’t know if  _ you _ can even catch that,” I frowned down at my own shoes, falling apart from traversing the city. “We can stop at another store and get you something new if you want. Not today but … soon?”

Sans shrugged but turned away from the slippers. I said a silent prayer that someone would throw them away as an act of mercy.

I followed Sans as he meandered into the electronics section. Home of broken toasters and malfunctioning microwaves.

As we walked I glanced around the store, noticing the furniture section and coming to a realization.

With all these clothes, Sans would need - or at least, could definitely use - a dresser to store them. I knew the closets in the apartment were tiny, and while he  _ could _ fit all these clothes in one, it would be tight.

“Hey,” I said as I turned toward the furniture section more fully. “I’m gonna go look for something over in the furniture. Come find me if you need anything?”

Sans nodded and turned his back to me, waving over his shoulder.

I found what I was looking for almost immediately.

I stared at the dresser with a mixture of awe and horror.

It was  _ so ugly _ .

But it was  _ so perfect _ .

A good size with six drawers. Ideal for the skeleton’s new clothes.

I knocked against the top and opened the drawers, finding that it was in  _ excellent _ condition. Made of solid wood instead of the flimsy particle board I had been expecting, it would hold up for a while. All the drawers slid open smoothly, without sticking or catching.

It had once been a hundred-fifty but was marked down to twenty-five dollars.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out  _ why _ the dresser was so cheap.

Someone had  _ hated _ this particular piece of furniture.

Some intrepid DIY-er had decided that this dresser needed their personal touch. Someone with the artistic sensibilities of a colorblind, Pixie Stick fueled third grader.

It was a Lisa Frank fever dream. 90s aesthetic furniture-ified. The palette was unpleasantly eye-catching. Neon colors clashed against one another in the worst possible configuration of patterns.

Wavy lines that branched at weird angles, butting up against blobs from a toddler’s finger painting session.

When I took a step back I realized they were supposed to be zebra stripes and cheetah spots.

No visible surface had remained untouched.

It was  _ horrible _ .

_ It was perfect _ .

Painting over the chaos would be easy. Sanding it down and refinishing the surface would be more work, but would also be simple.

The wood itself was high-quality, the construction sturdy.

I hurried over to the electronics, glancing down the aisles for Sans.

I found him squatting down to look at an old CRT monitor with a large crack across the glass.

“Find something interesting?” I asked as I approached.

Sans shook his head as he stood and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

“Well … I did! Come look,” I said with a smile. “I’d like your opinion on it.”

I led him to the perfect monstrosity of a cabinet, presenting it with a gameshow flourish. “Tada! What do you think?”

Sans stared at it for a moment before turning his dark sockets to me.

He didn’t say a word.

My excitement died a little and my posture slumped as I explained.

“For your room. I know closet space is limited in the spare rooms, so I thought you might want a dresser or something. For your clothes.” I motioned to the cart for emphasis. “It shouldn’t be too hard to repaint or refinish. If you want me to, I could probably do it over the next couple weekends.”

Sans looked back at the sin against interior design and gave an uninterested shrug. “Whatever.”

I frowned, again concerned I’d overstepped.

“Do you want it or not?” I asked with a frustrated sigh.

“Could use a dresser. This one is as good as any,” Sans said.

My head hurt.

“Great,” I said, forcing myself to sound nonchalant.”I’ll be right back, gonna go find a dolly. Is there anything else you wanna look at before we head out?”

Sans shook his head as he leaned against the cart and I rushed back to the front of the store to get a handcart.

The total for Sans’ clothes was nearly exactly what was left from the old guy. I wondered if Sans had planned it that way or if it was a coincidence.

Then I realized that, with the cost of the dirty pair of slippers, there would have only been spare change left.

Which meant somehow Sans had been able to keep a running tally of the total while barely looking at the clothes.

A skill I had never managed in my life.

The cashier looked at me as she finished ringing up the last of the shirts, not even glancing at Sans.

“One-forty-three, seventy-five.”

“I’m just buying the dresser,” I said as I tapped it with a hand.

Sans held the cash out silently, waiting for the cashier to turn to him. She kept her eyes on me, but I could tell she could see him in her peripheral vision.

“I’m sorry, our store only accepts money from monsters who have a written statement from their owner,” she said, apology plain in her voice.

I groaned in frustration.

Sans held the money out to me, instead.

I blinked at it in confusion.

“Take it,” he said.

I frowned, about to argue before I understood what he was thinking.

I grabbed the cash and walked around the dresser to the cashier, holding the money out to her.

“Is this better?” I asked, voice thick with sarcasm.

“Yes!” the girl said as she opened the till and began counting out change.

Which she offered directly to Sans.

I looked at her, completely confused.

“I don’t agree with the policy,” she explained as she began bagging clothes. “But I have to follow it. It’s very specific! We’re not allowed to  _ accept _ money from monsters without written consent. There’s no rule against giving the change to a monster, though.”

“Huh,” I said as I watched her, the angry tension in my chest easing. I glanced at Sans, trying to gauge his opinion.

He had the perfect poker face.

I sighed in surrender before moving to help the cashier bag clothes.

As I grabbed the Schrödinger tee I glanced up at Sans.

“Wanna put something on now? Or wait until you can wash it at home?”

He grabbed a shirt and a pair of gym shorts at random before heading to the dressing rooms without saying a word.

“Guess he didn’t want to wait,” I said to myself, trying to keep my tone light.

The cashier chatted with me as we bagged clothes. Exchanging lighthearted small-talk that I stumbled through semi-successfully.

I bought the dresser, then asked for a manager.

The cashier girl paled as the familiar customer service panic consumed her.

_ What did I do  _ wrong _?! _

“It’s nothing bad,” I said quickly, hoping to calm her before she could rile herself into a panic. “I just want to work out the details for how I’m gonna get the dresser home. I walked here.”

She relaxed and put a hand to her chest as she smiled at me.

“Of course!” she chirped, eager customer service rep once more.

She radioed for the manager, who appeared quickly, glaring at the cashier before turning to me with a placating smile. I explained the situation, which she was (begrudgingly) willing to help me with.

We worked out that I would come back over the weekend for the dresser. I would need my ID and proof of purchase, but otherwise the dresser was mine. If I didn’t pick it up by Sunday closing, it would be returned to the sales floor.

I sent a quick text to Xander, asking if I could borrow his truck over the weekend.

And possibly also borrow Jamie.

Sans returned as I was signing paperwork, absolving the thrift store of any responsibility for the dresser while they stored it for me. He was wearing a white tee shirt under his unzipped hoodie and holding his old, ragged gym shorts. He looked around for somewhere to put them.

“Are they going home or are they trash?” I asked, motioning to his hand.

He shrugged, so I pointed to the bags of clothes. I’d point out the dumpsters on the way back to the apartment, and if he wanted to toss them, he could.

I was done being in control.

I wasn’t as done being in control as I’d thought.

Immediately after leaving the thrift shop, bags of clothes in hand, I had taken the lead and started heading home. Halfway there I stopped, realizing I was on autopilot and hadn’t asked Sans what he wanted to do.

As usual I had forged ahead like I knew best.

I had no idea what time it was.

“Sorry,” I said as I pulled my phone out to check. “I kinda went on autopilot.”

I slid my phone back into my pocket and turned to face him. “Two choices: We can go home and drop this stuff off super quick, or you can bring it to my job.”

“I’d rather not carry these bags around,” Sans said, and I nodded.

“Makes sense. I just … I’m trying to be careful. I’m trying to get into the habit of asking before acting,” I said. I turned around and started back toward the apartment.

“Home again!” I said as I broke into a jog.

As I unlocked the door to let Sans in I was thinking about my next job.

I worked in a distribution warehouse. It was one of my more reliable jobs.

It was also one of the more taxing.

I spent my hours running from one end of the building to the other, using a list to find random items that were to be shipped to far off locations.

Like Ohio, and North Dakota.

Exotic locales.

Since he wasn’t an employee, Sans wasn’t allowed on the warehouse floor. Last week he had remained in the break room, playing on my phone or sleeping.

It was six hours, including travel.

It was at night, after the landlady had gone home. She  _ never _ came back at night.

So she would be gone until morning.

The risk of Sans being discovered hanging around in my apartment without me there was low.  _ Exceptionally _ low.

I placed the bags I had been carrying on the floor by the couch before wandering into the kitchen to search for something to hold me over until I got back home.

I took out my phone as I found a box of granola bars loading a page I had bookmarked a few nights ago.

> FAQ
> 
> **How do I allow my Monster to go unsupervised if I do not have the proper license?**
> 
> It is very simple to allow your Monster to go unsupervised on a case-by-case, temporary basis. You must provide a dated, written notice which includes the following:
> 
>   * The Monster’s name and identification number
>   * Your name, address, and a number with which to contact you
>   * The names and addresses of where your monster is allowed to travel
>   * The time and date that the notice is valid for
> 


When Sans left his room after putting his new clothes away I was busy writing down the addresses of the apartment building and Solar’s. I glanced up to see which room he had chosen, before returning to what I was writing.

“What’s that?” the skeleton asked as I signed my name at the bottom.

“Your hall pass,” I said, holding it out to him.

He looked at me, an eyebrow raised, without taking the paper.

I couldn’t figure out what the emotion behind the expression was.

Disbelief? Confusion? Skepticism?

A mixture of all three and more?

“Um,” I said, wondering if he even knew what a ‘hall pass’ was. “It’s your ticket to not having to go to work with me tonight,” I explained. “I mean, assuming you don’t want to.”

He reached out and took the paper from me, looking at it cynically.

“What about your lease?”

“Landlady usually leaves at four. She won’t be back, so she can’t do something … weird,”  _ or illegal, _ I thought, but didn’t say. I shrugged. “Unless you piss off one of my neighbors, night security won’t give you any trouble. So … don’t piss off my neighbors, please.”

I sighed and looked away from him. “I’ll get you on the lease soon. Until then it’s a pretty safe risk to leave you here alone for a few hours each night. Let me know whenever you want one.”

I fished my keys out of my bag, before realizing I didn’t need to take it with me at all. Instead I pulled out my wallet and placed the bag on the floor next to my seat.

“I wrote that you’re ‘allowed’ here and at Solar’s. If there’s anywhere you want me to add, let me know,” I frowned in disgust. “I can’t just say you’re allowed wherever you damn well please. I have to have addresses and specific locations.” I stuck my tongue out as I slid off the barstool and made my way to the door. “If you do leave, lock the door behind you, please. Keys are in my bag.”

“How will you get back in?”

“Hopefully I’ll knock and my roommate will answer,” I said, sounding a little too flippant. “If he doesn’t, I don’t know. There’s a hostel nearby that I could probably sleep at.”

I turned at the door, looking passed Sans to my messenger bag on the floor.

“I’m leaving my laptop and stuff here. Feel free to use whatever,” I said. I flipped my wallet open and took out the little cash I had left along with my bus pass and license.

I hesitated a moment before holding the cash out to him.

“For food,” I said, grimacing as soon as the words left my mouth. Tension began building in my stomach as I wondered if that sounded like a command or an order. My hand faltered and I drew back a little. “I’m sorry. Dammit. I should have aske - ”

Sans grabbed the bills from my hand, silencing me.

“It’s fine,” he said with a wave of his hand.

He looked at the cash, then the paper, then at me.

His eyelights flickered into existence, dim but visible.

His grin softened into something almost … real.

“Thanks,” he said.

I returned the smile, tension melting into a warm glow in my chest.

“No problem,” I said happily. “You’re very welcome.”

I lingered in the moment for a second longer before pulling myself back to reality with a glance at my phone.

I was late.

“I’ve gotta get going,” I said as I handed my phone to Sans, before turning to open the door. “Lock up behind me, okay?” Bye!”

I didn’t give Sans time to answer. I glanced back from the stairwell in time to see a flash of white as his skull vanished into my apartment.

_ Our _ apartment.

The door closed and I broke into a run, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Sans Interlude Chapter
> 
> \---
> 
> I had a lot of trouble with this chapter. It went through quite a few revisions until I was happy with it.


	14. Sans Interlude: Hall Passes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans is left alone for the first time. How does he spend his evening?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: References to Sans' treatment by other humans. References to attempted suicide.

**Part One: Trust**

Sans looked between the paper in his hand and his human "owner" as she rushed down the hallway. He couldn't believe that this _wasn't_ some sort of cruel prank.

With every step he expected her to stop, turn around, _order_ him to come with her.

To take away the small taste of freedom she had given him.

She would come up with some excuse to justify it. Explain everything away like she had done this morning.

"I can't trust you here alone."

_She wasn't done playing around with him._

"It's too much of a risk."

_She wouldn't let him out of her control._

"I'll lose my lease."

 _She was going to change her mind_.

She didn't.

He pulled the apartment door closed as Terra reached the stairwell. The soft click of the bolt sliding home resounded in his skull with finality.

She had actually left him alone.

Sans let out a nervous chuckle as he leaned against the door, overwhelmed by emotion. He was shaking, his bones rattling against one another.

Relief.

Skepticism.

 _Hope_.

The skeletal monster couldn't remember the last time he had been left alone like this. No orders or commands to keep him busy while his "owner" was away.

It was just him. His own choices.

It was almost like freedom.

He turned, leaning back against the door as he slid to the floor. A wave of nervous exhaustion rolled over him, and he found he couldn't stop laughing.

Hysterical. He was having a mental breakdown from someone showing him _kindness_.

It had been so long since he had been able to make _choices_. _Real choices_. He'd gone _years_ without agency, unable to choose how to fulfill even his most basic needs.

Years of being told when to eat, _what_ to eat. When to sleep, how long to sleep. What to wear.

Every action compelled and regimented, regardless of his feelings.

The paper crinkled in his hand, and the reminder of it made the edges of his smile drop.

 _This_ was what he was getting excited over? _Being allowed to stay home?_

With a growl Sans shoved himself to his feet, clenching the paper in his fist. He kicked off his shoes as he looked around the common areas of the apartment. Trying to decide what to do with his now-empty schedule.

There wasn't much he _could_ do.

With a sigh he walked to the counter to put down the paper the human had given him, trying to flatten ou the creases. He felt out of place in the empty apartment.

Like some sort of intruder.

The longest he had been in one place had been six months.

_(How much longer would he be here?)_

Sans shook his head, clearing the thoughts as best he could.

_I should take advantage of what I've got._

He shrugged out of his filthy hoodie. He hadn't wanted to take it off with Theresa around, where she could take it.

He had to protect it.

It was all he had left from before everything went wrong.

Before the Act had passed, before the Barrier broke, before the Resets.

Sans opened the door to the washing machine and threw in a detergent pod. He was grateful Theresa spent more for them. It was easier than trying to measure out the liquid. Less likely he would mess it up and flood the apartment with bubbles.

As the cycle started and the tub began to fill, Sans rubbed the fabric of one of the pockets between his fingers.

The red knit, so different from the blue of his hoodie, worn and needing mending.

He couldn't bring himself to change anything about it, to fix the stitches, reinforce the material.

Not when Papyrus was still out there somewhere.

Not when this was all he had of his brother.

Sans gave a silent prayer to gods he didn't know, didn't believe in.

_Please let Papyrus be safe._

Sans dropped his hoodie into the washer and closed the lid. The bang as it fell into place a wordless _amen_.

Sans had explored the apartment while the human slept. Learning the layout, trying to understand the strange girl who owned him.

Trying to figure out what kind of person she was from her belongings was impossible. Like trying to see the rings of Saturn without a telescope.

Any decoration was impersonal and unremarkable. The furniture bland and utilitarian. Functional, but lifeless.

Except every available window sill held at least one houseplant. Succulents, mostly, if Sans had correctly identified them. Easy to care for, especially when she wasn't home often. In the kitchen, under a bright light, was an herb planter.

Sometimes when Sans walked near the sink he could smell the fragrances.

Rosemary, basil, thyme, oregano.

The scent made him homesick.

He avoided the kitchen as much as he could.

More shocking than the plants was the dusty, disused bedroom-turned-office.

When Terra had pointed out the office that first night, Sans had expected a closet with a table or desk.

He had _not_ expected the largest bedroom in the apartment. A desk in the corner and walls lined with overstuffed bookshelves.

The organization was a mess. Cookbooks were next to sociological treatises and memoirs. A handful of well-loved children's classics were scattered about. Secondhand math and science textbooks shelved next to romance novels and comic books. Encyclopedias and reference materials shared space with poetry and mysteries.

There were even a handful of textbooks on monster history and society.

Most of the books were fantasy or science fiction.

Sans had already read a couple of the books. Dog-eared paperbacks that he knew wouldn't show more damage if he happened to open them too wide.

He read them at night, when he didn't sleep.

 _Couldn't_ sleep.

The skeleton didn't know or care if he was allowed, but the human had told him to make himself at home.

The worst she would do was kick him out.

So he read novels when he couldn't sleep and she didn't know.

But now he had a chance that he hadn't had before.

He had explored every inch of the house. Opened every cupboard. Rifled through every drawer. Read through all the papers on the dining room table. Chasing a reason to distrust the human, looking for any hint toward her motives.

He had searched everywhere, explored everything. Only to come up with more questions than answers.

 _Everything,_ except for one room.

_Hers._

Sans sighed and looked at the key in his hand, debating with himself.

_Why was she keeping him around?_

_What did she_ want _from him?_

_Would he regret trusting her?_

_(How would she betray him?)_

Sans slid the key into the lock, turning the mechanism.

He shouldn't be doing this.

It was a stupid risk, one that _he_ wouldn't forgive if their positions were switched.

 _(They would never be, he would never_ own a slave _.)_

The human hadn't given him the key to her bedroom for this. She had given him the keys to the apartment so that he could lock up when he went to Grillby's.

_Solar's._

The fact that the key to her bedroom was on the same ring was happenstance. Chance.

He shouldn't be doing this.

 _(He had only given Frisk the key to his room when he could trust them. They'd had to_ prove themself, _first.)_

Terra had trusted him enough to leave him alone in _her_ home. He was about to invade her privacy, spitting on that trust.

_But who locks their door unless they have something to hide?_

He turned the knob, feeling the door unlatch.

He couldn't figure her out.

Theresa was different from every other "owner" he'd had. He had been able to read them, figure out what they wanted. When he couldn't, they let him know.

_Labor. Entertainment. Protection._

_Information. Company._

_Satisfaction._

_"Love."_

It had been horrible.

It had been _easy._

Clear expectations, clear boundaries.

Two options: "Do what I say, or _suffer._ "

Theresa was different.

He didn't understand her.

It had been one surprise after another.

She swung from one extreme to the next like a pendulum. She never slowed long enough for Sans to get his feet under him.

First she stepped in to defend him, getting herself hurt in the process.

Then she dragged him around the city from job to job. Expecting he'd follow like a well-trained dog.

_(What other choice did he have?)_

_Then_ she asked him for his input on decisions, like she cared.

Like his opinions _mattered_.

Was it all an act? Was she _toying_ with him?

_Lulling him into a false sense of security before she tore everything away from him?_

_(Again.)_

He was waiting for the punchline of this cruel, unending joke.

He shouldn't be doing this.

_(He didn't have a choice.)_

Sans pushed the door open and entered the human's room.

Sans hadn't expected to find much, but he had expected more than _this_.

Theresa had chosen the smallest room for her own. A glorified closet, barely large enough to fit the few pieces of furniture she had. He wasn't sure there was even enough room for a trash tornado - self sustaining or otherwise.

Although it was cluttered enough for one.

Her bed was a single step up from a mattress on the floor. A basic metal box frame held a worn-looking mattress. The fitted sheet, threadbare and thin, was coming off of one corner. A tangle of blankets cascaded to the floor. A flattened pillow, disappearing into the darkness under the bed.

Beside the bed a beat-up nightstand held a lamp with a torn shade and a digital alarm clock.

Above the bed was his first point of interest. A cork board that held the most personality Sans had seen from the human woman.

There was a photograph of her sister and her family, all wearing funny hats and grinning in front of a castle. Another of Theresa at a protest or rally, fist raised in defiance and face contorted in an angry shout. Hidden under other things was a strip of four photos, cheap and colored with age. A much younger Terra and a blond haired male human who, for all his differences, was obviously her sibling. They looked like twins, one dark, one fair.

In the first picture they smiled, side by side.

In the last they had their hands in out, pushing each other away, faces caught in hysterical laughter.

Sans hadn't realized Theresa could look so happy.

Notes written on scraps of paper and post it notes covered the board. They all bore words of encouragement and love. A "Get Well Soon" card, covered in pinpricks and it's edges soft and fuzzy, was the background for the middle of the board.

A small, simple drawing of two stick figures standing side-by-side under a large sun. ME AND AUNT T written in a childish scrawl that took up most of the paper.

Warm bright things, sparks of happiness in her life.

Sans frowned as he looked through the board.

She had told him she had _four_ siblings. There was only evidence of two.

There were no portraits of parents or the other two brothers.

No candid photographs of friends.

Sans pulled away from the board, turning his attention to the small dresser. Smaller than the one she had chosen at the thrift store for _him_. It was pushed against the far wall, and wasn't used much if the clothes on her floor were any sign. Most were shoved against the closet door, effectively blocking it.

Aside from a wooden box the top of the dresser was clear of anything but household dust. Sans ran his fingertips over the delicate image carved into the lid. A bird in flight, intricately carved and detailed in blue, green, and red. He opened it, finding jewelry that he had never seen. He was surprised she had any to begin with, she hadn't seemed the type.

Beneath the assortment of rings and chains was a knife, the sight of which almost caused Sans to drop the box.

It was more heavy-duty than a normal pocket knife, and looked cared for. Sharp. One of the humans he had worked for had owned something similar, had called it a "tactical blade."

Sans hadn't cared much.

_(Until that human had pulled the knife on him.)_

He debated removing the knife, hiding it somewhere else in the apartment.

Instead he closed the box and replaced it on the top of the dresser.

Her dresser held the same nondescript clothes he had seen her wear every day for the last week. Blacks and greys, plain and uninteresting.

Her closet held boxes of memorabilia that he didn't investigate further. He didn't the he could learn much from high school yearbooks and old essays.

He opened the blackout curtains over the window, taking in the view. The same as the one from the balcony in his room. A car park with a clear view of her car, dingy buildings of brick and glass.

More plants.

Hanging from the upper trim of the window was some kind of fern or grass, striped green and white. He knew it was a common houseplant, had seen it before.

He couldn't remember its name.

On the sill were two pots. A poorly painted clay pot with an unknown sprout. It looked healthy but was unidentifiable. 

He suspected the pot had more meaning than whatever was growing in it.

And ... an orchid.

A strange plant for someone who had as little spare time as Theresa. Orchids were finicky, tricky to keep alive and difficult to coax into blooming.

Perhaps that was why this one _had_ no blooms. It was only green leaves, the flower stalk dead and yellowed.

**Part Two: Judge**

A tension Sans hadn't realized he was carrying melted away as he left the room and locked the door behind him.

He still didn't understand the human.

_(He still wasn't safe.)_

At least she wouldn't come home and find him _literally_ betraying her trust. She'd never know he was in her room.

He sighed as he dropped her keys in her bag, looking at the paper he had left on the counter.

He didn't want to go to Grillby's - _Solar's_ \- until his hoodie was clean and dry, but he was at a loss of what else to do.

He could sort his new clothes to wash them, but ... that sounded like a lot of work. He had decided on just throwing everything into the washer together. Two loads, if there was too much for one.

Terra's laptop was in her bag, and Sans took it over tot he coffee table. But once he opened it, he had no idea what to do next.

It wasn't like there was anyone updating their status on the Undernet anymore.

He _could_ look up his friends' statuses on the registration site, but he already knew what he would find.

They were all missing, dead, or missing and presumed dead.

Except for Papyrus.

He checked his brother's registration page.

_Alive._

No other information. Nothing about where he might be, what sort of work he might be doing. Just that one word. The only thing he had to cling to.

_Alive._

Sans closed the laptop with a sigh.

The paperback he had been reading this morning was still on the coffee table, but he couldn't get back into the story. He reread the same page three times before putting it back in annoyance.

Irritated annoyance drifted to calm boredom, and Sans shrugged and moved to lay down. Best to do what he did best.

Nothing.

As soon as he got comfortable the washing machine beeped, signaling the end of its cycle. Sans forced himself up and moved his hoodie to the dryer. He took halfhearted notes on new spots that needed patching (if he could get the materials).

He went to the room he had claimed returning with the paper bags of clothes. He began dropping in shirts and pants one at a time as he removed the tags.

He was a little more than halfway through when he ran out of washer space.

"Two loads it is," he muttered as he dropped in the detergent and closed the lid to start the cycle.

He teleported to the couch to renew his contemplation on how to spend the evening. First reconsidering and rejecting the idea of napping.

He remembered Terra saying something about streaming services, and turned on the TV.

Maybe he could find something to watch.

Sans was startled from his half-sleep by a knock on the door and the jingle of keys in the lock.

His first thought was to relax, the human was home.

His second thought was panic.

The human wouldn't have _knocked_ on the door if she had her keys. It was _her door._

The human _didn't_ have her keys. _Sans did._

Who else had keys to the apartment?

The skeleton summoned his magic, feeling it surround him, unformed but ready. 

He didn't know what to do. He debated between teleporting deeper into the apartment or to Grillby's. Uncertain which would be better.

He wasn't near the hall pass, so would going to Grillby's be dangerous?

The door opened.

"Hello?" a familiar voice called out, and Sans released his magic with a grateful sigh.

"She's not here," he called from his spot on the couch, willing his soul to calm. "Abigail, right?"

The human's giant of a sister entered the apartment with a bright smile, her arms loaded with canvas bags.

"Please, it's 'Abby,' " she said with a laugh. "Hello again, Sans."

Sans picked the paperback up off of the floor as he nodded in acknowledgement. He must have knocked it off of the coffee table when he jumped.

Abby was immediately at home in the kitchen, even more than Terra. She flitted about, unloading canvas bags and filling the near-empty fridge.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," she said as she worked. "I didn't expect anyone to be here. I just stopped by to drop off some leftovers, for you and my sister."

Sans shrugged as he picked up the controller to continue, trying to find something to watch.

He felt exposed without his hoodie, and he resisted the urge to rub at the visible parts of his humeri. To pull his shirt sleeves further down. 

He felt uncomfortably like he was on display. Almost as bad as if he were wearing nothing at all.

He hoped when she glanced up she wouldn't see the tension in his features and posture.

"S'fine," he said, his voice carefully casual. "Didn't know you had a key."

Abby hummed an acknowledgement and waved a hand at the living space. "This was my apartment. Or ... it was Xander's. Theresa took over the lease when we moved out. I still have a key, in case of emergency."

The feeling of not belonging, of being an invading stranger, weighed on Sans as she spoke.

Along with an ache of loss.

He didn't belong _here._

He belonged in his house in Snowdin, with Papyrus. Annoying his little brother with bad jokes and misplaced socks. Eating greasy food and illegal hot dog stands.

He swallowed down the feeling of homesick nostalgia, reprimanding himself.

_There was no 'going back.'_

_There were no more Resets._

_Never would be again._

_He could only move forward._

He compared the two sisters as he watched Abby work.

Terra was small and dark and confusing as hell. She was ... _exhausted._ But she never _stopped._ Always on the move, succumbing to sleep with a grudging acceptance.

It would be admirable if it wasn't so concerning.

Her soul held a deep, twisted rage. Primal and violent.

_Spite._

It consumed her.

It frightened him. A reminder of nightmares he wanted to forget. _Lives_ he wanted to forget.

Made him worry when that darkness would turn on _him._

He didn't understand her. She was indecipherable, inscrutable.

A puzzle.

His thoughts turned to Abby. Big and bright and shining like a star. Warm and open, radiating optimism like a goddamn sun. Confident that everything would work out, that _she_ could set it all right.

If the way she treated her little sister was any indication, she was soft hearted, eager to help.

But ... there was something off. Something _wrong_.

Sans didn't trust her.

_(She was both too much and not enough like Papyrus. A funhouse mirror version, twisted and uncanny.)_

Abby closed the refrigerator door and turned to show Sans a covered plate.

"I brought enough leftovers to last a few days, but I also made up a couple plates for you and Terra," she said. "If you want it, I mean. I put a bit of everything on this one, so you can figure out what you enjoy."

Sans tilted his head at the woman, appraising her.

 _Judging_ her.

Sans hadn't asked for the Judge. The gift and the curse that let him weigh the SOULS in front of him. The voice in his head that didn't let him form his own opinions.

He couldn't deny it hadn't come in handy since coming to the surface.

Abby's soul shined from the center of her being. Bright, gleaming gold. _Justice_.

A trait Sans was intimately familiar with.

But deep within the gold was something darker. Violent and angry.

 _Vengeance_.

Sans wondered what had occurred to cause the corruption. What twisted her reason to the extreme of revenge.

He noted the similarities between the sisters' Souls. The same darkness, although Terra's ran deeper.

He wondered if they shared a source.

"Thanks," he said with a shrug, collapsing back into the couch. "Means I don't have to go out."

The woman snorted, somehow sounding dignified. "I'll leave it here for you. Mister Lazy _bones_."

Sans felt some of the tension go out of his smile, becoming more sincere with the teasing.

He wondered, if things were different ... 

_Would he trust this human?_

"Where were you planning to go?" Abby asked. "I can go get something for you if you want. My cooking is pretty good, but even _I_ can't compete with everything."

Sans waved a hand dismissively, "Nah. I was just gonna go to Grill-" he cut himself off with a curse, a years (decades, _centuries_ ) old habit difficult to break. "To _Solar's_."

The human's smile wavered. Just a brief moment, a flinch of disgust before it was back to casual friendliness.

Sans almost didn't notice it.

"You go there often? With Terra?"

Sans wouldn't have heard the tension if he hadn't been listening for it. Strain hardening the edges of her words.

"Most days I've been here," he said with a nod and a shrug.

Abby rubbed at her temple with her hand, walking to the couch. She was saying something to herself that he couldn't make out. Then she turned her attention back to him with a sigh. "Would you do me a favor?"

Sans hoped she didn't notice him tense at the question. That like most humans she was unable to "read" skeleton body language.

"Depends on the favor," Sans said, hoping his voice was casual. Shrugging, like he wasn't panicking at a stupid _phrase_. "How much work it'll be."

The human chuckled again, her own tension draining away as she leaned against the island. 

"Fair enough," she said. "Nothing too difficult. Just ... keep an eye on my sister when she's at Solar's? _Especially_ if the owner, Apollo, is there as well?"

"Why? She seems to get along with him, except when he steals Grillby's tips." Sans said darkly. If the human didn't realize what sort of person the asshole was, he wasn't sure she _could_ be helped.

"Apollo ... can be a jerk." Abby said with a sigh. She gave him a tired smile. "I'd feel better if she had someone looking out for her."

Sans shrugged again, not answering. He wasn't making any promises.

Not to a human.

Not to someone he might not ( _probably won't_ ) see again.

He might ask Grillby to keep an eye on Theresa next time he saw the flame elemental.

If he remembered.

Abby sighed, accepting his silence with a shrug of her own. She glanced at the television, where he was scrolling through a list of "Trending" shows.

He had apparently stopped on a sitcom about a pair of twins. It looked ... boring.

"Glad to see _someone_ is using that account besides my kids," she said brightly. "Find anything good to watch?"

"Nothin' has caught my eye," Sans admitted.

Abby smiled and beckoned at the couch. "Mind if I join you? Maybe we can find something together."

"Don't y'have a family waiting' for you at home?" Sans asked. He furrowed his brow at her even as he shifted over on the couch to give her some room.

Abby laughed brightly, almost musically.

"They'll survive _one night_ without me," she said warmly. "It's Xander's turn to cook, which means takeout. _Probably_ pizza. So I made my own dinner arrangements. James is out with friends and won't be home until late, even though it's a school night," she said with a sigh. She shrugged as she flipped through the menus. "It's what teenaged boys _do_ , apparently. I can watch an episode or two. As long as I get home to read Chloe her bedtime story."

 _Sure, they'll survive one night. But you should hold 'em close while they're here. Never know what might happen_.

The thought was bitter and sharp, and he thought better than voicing it. He shrugged at her explanation and motioned for her to sit.

After a moment of scrolling through menu options Abby glanced at him.

"So, what are your favorite genres?"

Partway into the pilot episode the laundry chimed.

The show was a series, something Abby said he'd love when he told her he liked science fiction. 

_Trust me on this one._

So far she had been right.

She was already up, making them popcorn in the kitchen.

"Sounds like laundry's done, want me to switch it over while I'm up?" the human offered.

Sans stared at her for a moment before shaking his head.

"I got it," he said as he walked over to the laundry machine.

He almost couldn't wait to throw his jacket over his arms. He barely repressed the impulse to hug it close to him now that it was back.

He moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer before beginning the slow fill for the other half of his clothes.

"Wait!" Abby said as he reached to turn on the machine, startling him.

He flinched, expecting anger or violence as he slowly turned to the human. He was ready to dodge if needed, but tried to look calm.

Abby was holding her hands up, like she was trying to tame a wild animal.

 _Look, I'm unarmed! I'm not going to harm you. You're safe_.

"Nothing's wrong. It's just ... mom brain?" she winced. "That's not quite right ... you put new jeans in with everything else?"

She sounded uncertain, like _she_ expected _him_ to lash out.

Sans nodded, wordlessly staring at her.

"Some denim bleeds the first time it's washed," she said quickly. "They should be washed separately. Unless you want your clothes to look ... dingy?"

Sans blinked and glanced at the clothes.

Both of the sisters were ... confusing.

He pulled the pair of jeans out of the washer drum, dropping them on the door beside the washer.

When he turned around Abby was holding the bowls out to him and motioning to the couch with a wide smile on her face.

Like nothing happened.

Like it wasn't a big deal.

She let him choose which bowl of popcorn he wanted.

She wasn't angry when he chose the one with more.

**Part Three: Deliberate**

"They aren't even gonna feed the one that was _tortured_?" Sans said as the credits rolled.

Abby shrugged as she stood to take the popcorn bowls to the kitchen.

"Space jellies seemed like they just wanted to get the eff out. Can you blame them?"

"No but ... " Sans frowned, unable to think of a response. "Why didn't the _humans_ study them?"

The woman hummed as she washed the bowls.

"Takes place in the far future," she said, raising her voice over the sound of the water. "Not all of the crew is human."

"Seems unrealistic," Sans snorted. He tugged at the collar around his neck, suddenly aware of its weight and heat. How _unnatural_ it felt.

Abby dried her hands and turned to Sans, leaning against the kitchen island. "It's something for humans to strive for. The best of us. Aspirational."

Sans snorted and paused the show, not wanting to watch another episode yet. He lay back with his paperback. Pretending to read.

Looking away from her.

She wouldn't want to hear _his_ opinions on "the best humanity had to offer."

He could feel her eyes on him, judging her. So similar to how he had Judged her, but so different.

Even without magic, he felt her peer into his SOUL.

He tried not to think about what she saw.

"What is it like," she asked after a moment. "Living with my sister?"

Sans tipped his head back, meeting the human's eye.

It wasn't a question he had anticipated.

"Confusing," he said with a shrug, honesty winning over tact.

Abby snorted as she pushed herself away from the island. She began folding canvas bags, cleaning up.

"Sounds right. She's not very good at ... interacting with other people."

"Why is she - " Sans began before he could think better of it, cutting himself off suddenly.

He wasn't entirely certain how that question was going to end.

_\- like that?_

_\- doing this?_

_\- so strange?_

_Why is she - ?_

"Keeping you around?" Abby supplied when he didn't continue the question. "I'm sure you've noticed her ... _unease_ with how monsters are treated."

Sans thought for a moment before nodding, sitting up to face the woman.

She sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose.

"She was _supposed_ to talk to you, but knowing her she forgot as soon as she started running late."

Abby was quiet for a moment, lost in thought.

Sans considered defending Theresa, since she _had_ spoken to him.

Abby continued before he could.

"My sister has always been ... protective," she said, sounding uncertain on the word. It was tolerable, but not _quite_ correct. "She makes sure she never comes first."

She paused, face contorted as she thought out what she wanted to say.

Her expression brightened and she rushed herself out of the kitchen and into the office.

"Hold on a minute, I'll be _right_ back."

Curious, Sans got off the couch to follow. He leaned against the jamb, watching as Abby searched the bookshelves for whatever had sparked her interest.

It took her a while, the organizational system apparently having changed since the last time she had looked for a book, and she pulled it out with a gasp and a smile.

"Ah! Here it is." She brought it over to him before motioning back to the living room. "I want to show you something, maybe it'll help you understand her more."

It was a scrapbook.

Abby pulled the pages apart, apparently at random. She smiled and held the binder out to him.

On the page was the same photograph from the cork board in Terra's bedroom. Or a _very_ similar one.

She was younger. Her eyes lacking the dark circles and exhaustion. Her fist in the air as she shouted in anger or solidarity. Behind the picture was a news article from the Ebbot Times about Monster Rights. 

"When monsters Surfaced, Terra was one of their earliest defenders and advocates," Abby explained. "She went to protests, collected signatures, called and wrote to politicians. Between the Barrier breaking and the Act passing ... every waking moment was devoted to the fight for monster personhood."

She flipped through pages as she spoke, pausing occasionally to point Terra out in a group photo.

Pamphlets and fliers mixed with news articles and photographs of Monster Rights advocates and events.

Some he remembered. Many he didn't.

Sans was only partially listening, lost in his own thoughts.

His own memories.

There were journal entries interspersed with the photos and news headlines. Written in the same messy handwriting as the note on the counter.

Abby turned the final page. A news article about a vigil, a picture of dark figures with candles in hand. He felt his Soul crash.

He remembered that night, the quiet anxiety as monsters waited their fate. Passed down by humans who had shown them little but distrust and distaste.

The damn kid, all optimistic determination, signing at him from Papyrus' shoulders.

_It'll be okay! I promise!_

It was the last time he had seen any of the Dreemurs.

Sans focused back on the picture, on the shrouded figures.

He couldn't tell which, if any, was Theresa.

"When the ruling came down, denying you all ... _everything_... she was _destroyed_ ," Abby said, her voice thick with emotion.

"A lot of us were," Sans muttered.

Abby snorted and gave him a half smile. "Fair. It's ... not the same. I wouldn't compare the two." Her voice became somber and hushed as she went on.

"Terra believed she had failed monsterkind. As if she _could_ have done more. _Should have_ done more. As if she could have prevented everything with a little more work. One more call. One more protest."

She looked back down at the photograph, running a finger over one of the figures. "She stopped sleeping, stopped eating ... stopped taking care of herself."

She looked up, meeting Sans' eyelights with a strained smile. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes shining with emotion and unshed tears.

"We almost lost her."

Sans flinched like the words were a physical blow he could dodge. He looked back at the photograph, the way Abby traced the figure.

"She fell?"

"Not exactly," Abby said as she closed the binder and placed it on the coffee table. Her voice was distant, haunted. Too thin, like when you lose something precious. When you feel like you're being torn apart.

( _When you find a dusty scarf in the snow._ )

"Humans don't 'fall' like monsters," she said with a defeated sigh. "For better or worse, we can survive without a will to live. When _our_ hope dies ... we have to take matters into our own hands. Our souls won't do it for us."

Sans was silent as he stared at the binder, the words working their way into his bones.

Suicide wasn't _unheard_ of in monsters, but it was _exceedingly_ rare. Depression was common, but by the time it deepened enough for a monster to make a plan ... their dust was already scattered. Their soul unable to maintain a physical form, they fell into a coma from which they never woke.

Their bodies faded to dust.

It was becoming more and more common in the years before the barrier broke. As hope became harder to find, an elusive bit of light in the darkness of the Underground.

Abby continued to whisper, almost to herself.

"For humans it's a more ... deliberate act,"

The human cleared her throat, looking away and blinking to clear her eyes of tears.

"Terra hasn't had an easy life," Abby said. Her voice warmed with gentle pride as she spoke, the edges of her words sharpened with bitter regret. "She didn't have anyone helping her. When she sees someone suffering, she does whatever it takes to help them."

She put a hand fondly on the binder.

"Terra never wants _anyone_ to suffer."

She turned back to Sans with a soft smile that warmed him like the sun. " _That_ is why she keeps you around. I know it has been challenging, both here with my sister and before you met. I can't imagine what you've been through. I can't imagine what your opinion on humans _must_ be and I don't blame you for it.

"But I know my little sister. She's smart and stupid and beautiful and very confused. She's been hurt too much and loved too little. She is a lot of things, but above all she is _good_. She only wants to help you. In whatever way she can. I hope you'll let her."

Sans nodded, struck silent by the soft passion Abby had for her sister.

_(The same affection he had for his brother.)_

He shouldn't trust her.

This could all be a cruel joke.

_(But he wanted to.)_

The moment was broken when Abby jumped and fished her phone from her pocket.

"Oh, time to go," she said as she stood. "Tell Theresa I said 'hi,' if you would?"

"Sure," Sans said automatically, his brain still recovering from Abby's speech. Still trying to fit her earnest adoration into his model of Terra.

Abby smiled and moved to gather up her belongings.

"Remember there's a plate for you here," she said with a smile and a wave at the kitchen island.

The monster nodded, finally getting up to put it in the microwave.

He wanted to press Abby on Theresa's motives. If he had more information, just knew a _little_ more about her, maybe he could let his guard down.

His gaze landed on the piece of paper on the countertop, and all his questions fled his mind.

"What's a 'hall pass'?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Terra has a bad day at work
> 
> \---
> 
> I'm back! I haven't prewritten as far as I'd hoped, but I do have some chapters ready for posting, and hopefully I'll keep up my buffer this time. Had, uh, a crazy couple of months there. My state was on fire, the fires were actually close to me, heatwaves that knocked out our power multiple days in a row ... and me, going through a depressive phase.
> 
> A couple things to note:
> 
>  **The Judge:** My "Judge" idea is adapted from [nilchance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance) (CW: nilchance writes NSFW and fontcest, peruse at your own risk). The Judge is something between a magical entity, a magical construct, and a parasite. It allows Sans to be able to quickly "read" a person's Soul, but it is imprecise. Broad strokes rather than fine detail. He knows overall that Terra and Abby are good people, but ... well, so were some of his previous owners. The Judge is fairly quiet outside of actual judgements, existing as a sort of sixth sense that Sans has. But like his other senses, it is imperfect and imprecise.
> 
> I have _some_ headcanon that the Judge is partially responsible for Sans' low HP, but I don't know how relevant that will be to Blood and Marrow.
> 
>  **Falling Down:** I don't know if I came up with this headcanon or if I picked it up somewhere, but I've interpreted "Falling Down" as a reaction specifically to a loss of hope. A severe depressive state that isn't _quite_ suicidal, but is close. There's not an active desire to die, but there also isn't much hope for continuing on. Since monsters run on the magic of their Souls, without that hope they can't maintain a physical form.
> 
> Suicide, as a result, is extremely rare and generally only happens in extreme cases. An accident (or anomaly) killing everyone you care about, for example.


	15. Bad Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terra has a bad day at work.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE TRIGGERS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: SEXUAL HARASSMENT, SEXUAL ASSAULT, IMPLIED THREATS OF VIOLENCE, EXPLICIT THREATS OF VIOLENCE, NOT BEING TAKEN SERIOUSLY WHEN REPORTING AN ASSAULT.
> 
> Potentially triggering scene starts: _“Hey, chica,” a voice said behind me, an overly-saccharine lilt to his tone. “I’m Jason.”_
> 
> Story resumes: _I took my legally mandated break._
> 
> Please take care while reading and stop or skip ahead if you need to! Synopsis at end for important plot bits.

By the time I trudged up the stairs to my apartment it was _well_ after midnight. I leaned against the door as I knocked, soft but firm.

I just wanted to sleep.

I listened for any response before pulling my hand back. Readying to knock again.

The lock clicked and I stopped mid-swing, shifting back half a step. I didn't want to fall on top of Sans when he opened the door.

"Thanks," I mumbled as I walked by him, not caring that I was being kind of rude. I kicked off my shoes and wandered to the fridge.

I was beyond hungry. _Starving_.

Nothing I could think of sounded edible. My stomach clenched in response to everything I considered. Everything that sounded like I could keep it down was expensive or too much time and effort.

I grumbled as I got to the fridge door. I knew once I pushed away the nausea and started eating I would be fine. This was just me being picky for no reason.

Still, I was considering skipping dinner altogether and going straight to bed. I thought I could hear my blankets and mattress calling to me from deeper in the apartment.

"Long day?" Sans asked. He'd come over to the island, leaning on it as he watched me.

I grunted in reply as I opened the fridge, blinking in surprise at the leftovers that weren't mine.

Right at eye-level was a paper plate covered in plastic wrap. I pulled it out and looked at the sticky note stuck to it.

_Angel -_

_Take care of yourself._

_\- Abby_

"Your sister came over to check on you," I half-heard Sans say as I read the note again. "Brought leftovers."

I took off the sticky note and plastic wrap before shoving the plate into the microwave to heat.

Roast beef with gravy. Mashed potatoes with a little butter. The sweetcorn she made that I loved.

It was the same dinner our mom used to make when things were good.

"I'll need to text her a thanks," I said, distracted by bittersweet thoughts.

I knew, to Abby, the meal was a reminder of good things, of warmth and family. It was one of her favorite traditions after she and Xander got together. Making a big, traditional family dinner at least once a month.

The microwaved beeping pulled me from my thoughts, and I reached in to test the food. The potatoes would probably need to be stirred to heat more evenly.

When I turned back around Sans was staring at me over the kitchen island. The bone of his brow barely wrinkled in concern.

"You okay?"

I shrugged as I stirred the potatoes around and put the food back in the microwave. " 'm exhausted. Headache. _Starving_ ," I turned toward the microwave, watching the plate spin. "I'm fine. Just need t'eat and get to sleep."

"Starving?" Sans asked as he frowned at me. A strange expression, given his permanent rictus grin.

I shrugged again and opened the microwave at just the right second, clearing the timer. "Haven't had more than a granola bar since my first shift."

I pulled out the plate and put it on the island, opting to eat standing.

If I sat down I was pretty sure I would pass out.

"That was over twelve hours ago, and I've been on my feet running the warehouse."

I stirred at my food, desperately trying to push at the nausea in my stomach and willing myself to just take a bite.

Sans watched me for a few minutes. Staring as I stirred the entrees together without eating. Before it became awkward he shrugged, wandering deeper into the apartment.

I started shoveling food into my mouth when I heard his door latch. Brain switching off.

I ate and cleaned up after myself on autopilot, catching myself about to throw away my fork. I tossed the utensil in the sink and hurried down the hallway, pausing outside Sans' room.

"G'night Sans," I called out. "Thanks for letting me in."

As I changed my clothes I began to worry that Sans had misunderstood me. That he thought I was upset with him.

I had been terse, short. Annoyed and a little panicked. Rude.

He hadn't said anything, but he was so hard to read. I couldn't trust him to actually tell me if something was wrong.

I'd need to apologize in the morning. Even if he wasn't upset, I wanted to make sure he understood that _I_ wasn't upset with him. I didn't blame _him_ for my condition.

While it _was_ true that I hadn't eaten because our change of plans to get him clothes, that was on me. _I_ should have planned better. I could have figured out a way to at least stop at a convenience store or something. Spent money on the stale snacks in the break room vending machines.

I'd have to apologize in the morning.

I fell into my bed with a grateful whine.

There were three hours before my alarm.

I pulled my blankets over myself with a groan.

Five days and I'd have a break.

I didn't dream.

I got up. I went to work. I worked three jobs, crossing the city on foot and public transit. I came home. I slept for too few hours before it started again.

Sans spent the mornings with me, but I made sure to give him my keys and a new "hall pass" every day. He went home before my warehouse job, taking everything I had but my ID, bus pass, and fifty bucks.

I felt safer walking at night without my bag. I was less of a target. It helped knowing I wouldn't lose anything troublesome if something happened.

I _wanted_ to look for ways to give Sans more freedom, but I was already stretched thin. I had been balancing on a knife edge before, and now I had to look out for someone else.

I had no time, no energy.

I didn't have anything to spend on navigating the intricacies of "owning" someone to my overtaxed mind.

It was easier to write down the same information every day.

Wednesday night, while I waited for my dinner to heat in the microwave, he leaned against the island.

"How far away is your sister's cafe?" he asked. I glanced at him, surprised to find him looking away, like it was just an idle question. Pure curiosity.

I considered. I usually drove, but Sans would have to walk. "It's a long walk - an hour and a half, maybe two, from here at normal-human-walking speed - but it's doable. Pretty sure I've done it before."

"Normal human?" Sans asked.

"Also known as the 'Not-Terra'," I said, my tone academic. "A totally real value of measuring speed." I smiled at a distant memory. "My brother used to _hate_ going on walks with me because I walked so fast. He'd be sprinting while I took a leisure stroll." I muttered to myself, deep in thought and memory. "If I remember correctly, one Not-Terra is equal to two kilometers an hour, give or take."

The microwave beeped and I turned around to get out my food. When I turned back toward Sans his face was neutral.

"Could you add it to the list of places I can go?" Sans asked. "Well Roasted?"

I straightened up a little, surprised. "Of course," I said with a nod. "I'll add it to my notes. Anywhere else?"

I pulled out my phone, adding "Well Roasted" to the list I transcribed every day. I'd need to look up the address, but I could do that later.

Sans' answer was immediate.

"That park you stop at before housecleaning."

I nodded and added the park name to my list.

The park made sense, it was a relaxing space. Big enough you could be somewhat anonymous ... although maybe not so much if you were a skeleton.

My sister's cafe, while also relaxing, was small and intimate. The anonymity didn't exist. I loved it there, but Sans had to reason to prefer it over a closer venue.

"I'm surprised you want to go to Well Roasted," I said before my tired brain could catch up to my tongue. Annoyed at the feeling that I was undermining him somehow. Questioning his choices.

But if he thought he didn't _have_ other options ...

"I like the pastries," Sans said with a shrug.

"I know some places closer that sell Spider Pastries," I said as I looked down at my food.

"There's a Rainbow operated cafe somewhere near Solar's. They almost _certainly_ have them," I continued. "You don't _have_ to go to my sister's place, if you don't want to."

I shoved some of my dinner into my mouth, preventing myself from blurting anything else for a few minutes.

Sans didn't say anything in response as I chewed as swallowed.

"I get wanting to go somewhere familiar. You'll probably get stuff for free there," I said with a shrug. "Let me know if you think of anywhere else."

I wasn't positive that my sister had _instructed_ her workers to give Sans free food, like she had with me.

But she had a candid photo of me up in the back room. Her employees knew I didn't pay for _anything_. They'd note it down and Abby would cover costs from her own paycheck.

I wouldn't be surprised if as soon as she knew about Sans, she had added "Skeleton monster" to the board next to my photo. Probably other identifying information, depending on what Jamie and his coworkers said.

"Yeah," I repeated after I finished eating. The silence awkward and stretched. "I'll write down Well Roasted."

Sans wasn't there when I turned around from rinsing my plate and fork.

I went to bed with a shrug and a gentle, "Hope you sleep well, Sans," as I passed his door.

If I ranked all the jobs I had ever had, my current night-shift warehouse job was the _worst_. Even below mucking out stables.

The gigantic building was both too hot and too cold. I had to run from end to end looking for items based on cryptic codes. Every second counted, a timer ticking down as I struggled to meet a quota.

I was faster at it than a lot of other employees, because I ran all the time _anyway_ , but it was still grueling.

I always felt like I was running behind, a tightness in my chest. And sellers kept giving their products paragraph-long names.

I was looking for a garden gnome. I had the warehouse code and the first 20 letters of its name. I was having trouble finding it.

"Hey, _chica_ ," a voice said behind me, an overly-saccharine lilt to his tone. "I'm Jason."

"What do you want?" I asked, not hiding or pushing down my annoyance. I didn't turn toward him, my focus centered on finding the item on my list. It had to be here somewhere.

"I noticed you don't have your 'bodyguard' in the break room anymore," he said. He leaned on the shelving next to me, trying to look cool next to a pile of rubber ducks. He wasn’t unattractive, if you were into white frat bros.

When I didn't respond to him he tilted his head. "What happened? Someone dust his ass?"

He laughed, like it was a joke, and my skin crawled.

But no sign of my quarry. Maybe it was creeped out by this guy too and had fled the premises.

Sucks for me, but godspeed little dude. May you find greener lawns out there somewhere.

"No," I said.

"Not a very good bodyguard if he lets his owner go off on her own," he pressed. I leaned away from him, uncomfortable with him looming over me as I crouched to look on a lower shelf.

I shrugged, trying to look busy as I sifted through a box of identical cellphone cases. Hoping that if I didn't respond to him he'd get bored, leave.

"Hey so ... " he said in a low, conspiratorial whisper, bending further over me. "I've heard some girls get wet for monster dong. You one of them?"

I froze at the question, my thoughts catching on the edges of it. The implications.

"No," I said as I took a breath and kept looking, comparing aisle and bin number to what I had written down. I was definitely in the right place.

"Leave me alone," I said, trying to ignore my pulse. "I have work to do."

" _Aw_ , _chica_ , you don't gotta be like that," he said, tone right back into the playful lilt.

Was the garden gnome a cryptid? Where the hell _was_ it.

"Not everybody would, but _I_ believe you," he said, a little closer to me as I stood up. He held his hands near my stomach, not touching me, but very close.

I held very still as his eyes rolled over my body.

"Body like that? You don't need to stoop to fuckin' a monster," he said before he backed up half a step. Letting me breathe again, and letting me see the garden gnome on the shelf by his head. I reached past him for it, hoping I could cut off the conversation here.

"I'm not interested and here's what I'm looking for," I said. "Don't talk to me again."

Jason wasn't finished, yet. He grabbed my wrist, stopping me from grasping the lawn ornament. With an almost-gentle twist he pulled me off balance. I half-stumbled against him, and he pulled me to his chest.

I took him in, unable to ignore him any longer.

He was a good foot taller than me, broad shouldered and solid. He definitely did _something_ athletic. American football (he looked like a line backer) or weight lifting or _something_.

I felt very, very small with his hand on my wrist and his arm around my waist.

I couldn't move.

"Let's go out for dinner, Saturday night. My treat," he said. "I'll pick you up around ... how does seven sound?"

He spoke as though everything were going to plan. Like everything was happening in his favor.

_Like no wasn't an answer he would accept._

My brain sparked at the irony. Had he led with the offer of food, I probably would have agreed. Dating for a free meal wasn't beneath me. Even if _I_ knew it wouldn't (couldn't) go anywhere.

Instead, he had ambushed me. Talked about Sans' hypothetical death like it was nothing. Implied that I was abusing the skeleton monster.

Touched me without consent.

Unfortunately, my rage drowned, overtaken by a much more primal instinct.

 _Fear_.

My skin burned where he touched. I desperately fought to focus on my rational mind as my lizard brain reacted with panic. My options were fight, flight, or freeze. I was already freezing, and it wasn't helping, and I couldn't flee.

I was like a cornered animal. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

I wondered if anyone would help if I called out. The warehouse was massive, and I often didn't see my coworkers. I didn't have a radio, either. There weren't enough to go around.

"C'mon, _chica_ ," he said, the unwanted pet name feeling like a threat. "Give me a chance."

His cologne was overpowering, cloying. It filled up my nostrils and mouth, over-sweet and nauseating.

I tried to pull away from him again, but he pulled me closer as I stiffened further.

"Dinner and dessert," he said, mouth so close to my ear I felt his breath on my ear. It made my spine prickle.

Like a horror movie.

"If you don't like what you see, we can go our separate ways."

"No."

Straight and to the point. I didn't trust my voice with any more syllables than that.

I was drowning.

It was too much.

Everywhere his body pressed felt like it was on fire. My wrist was going to have blisters from his heat against my bare skin.

His voice wasn't right. Smooth, silky, edged in a dangerous threat.

My nerves were raw, my mind repeating a single phrase.

A mantra.

_Get away._

"No," I repeated as I shifted my stance. "Let me _go_."

He twisted my wrist, too tight and in the wrong direction. I flinched at the jolt of pain.

"Am I not good enough for you?" he demanded, voice raised. He looked at my face and laughed. "What, was I actually right about the monster cock?"

I pulled away from him, disgust, anger, and anxiety warring inside me.

"I was! You prefer fucking a _skeleton_ that a _real man_!" he laughed. "Is it because you know he can't do anything? You like to be in control, _chica_?"

I felt sick but finally found something to focus on.

"You haven't been with _me_ ," he said, although I barely heard him. "I could change your mind."

The way he spoke about Sans was derisive, his tone haughty.

He talked like humans were _better_ than monsters.

 _Humans_. Who weren't _literall_ y made of magic and hope.

 _Monsters_. Who were _compassion incarnate_.

It was so small.

But it broke me out of flight, and dropped me right into the middle of _fight_.

"Let me _go_ ," I hissed, my voice low in warning. I dropped my hand from his chest, letting him pull me closer.

I pulled the utility knife off of my belt. "Unless you want to see how your intestines look as a necktie."

He scoffed, about to say something else, twisting my wrist until it felt like it might break.

Until he felt the tip of my utility knife pressed against his stomach, my threat becoming a little more real.

"Let. Me. The _Fuck_. **_Go._** " I repeated, each word enunciated . I emphasized the last word with a push of the knife. I didn't think it was enough to break skin, but I wasn't quite in the mindset to care.

He released me and danced back a good two meters.

Still too close, but better.

"What the fuck, bitch?"

I snorted. Such bravery when he was out of arms reach.

"I said _no_. Didn't anyone ever fucking teach you that 'no' _means fucking_ ** _no_**?" I demanded, trying to keep my emotions in check. I felt like I was about to cry, or laugh, or scream.

"I don't _know_ you! Why the _fuck_ would I want to go _out_ with you?" I snapped as the reins on my emotions began to slip. "You think you're _such_ a fucking _catch_ that you can degrade me? My _friend_? That I'll go out with you after you _threaten me_?!"

I laughed, adrenaline making me feel manic and wild. "Come near me again and I will gut you and stuff you like a _fucking piñata_."

I waved my box cutter, emphasizing my words. "Fuck you, fuck your entitled masculinity bullshit, and fuck your _fucked up_ _idea of seduction_."

I turned around and grabbed the garden gnome off the shelf.

I stormed to the front of the warehouse, away from Jason the Asshole.

 _Fuck this shit_.

I went to my manager to report the incident immediately. She advised that if I "didn't want _that kind_ of attention" then " _maybe_ I should button up my work polo."

As if my work polo - worn over a high collared, long sleeved shirt - was somehow scandalous with two buttons undone.

Like _hers_ was.

I took my legally mandated break.

I wanted to break something.

I wanted to smoke.

I wanted to stop shaking.

I sat in the break room, regretting giving my phone to Sans. I needed a distraction, something to take my mind off of the tension taut in my chest. Over and over, I read the notices on the wall. Motivational posters, instructions on workplace safety, a flyer for an employee gift-exchange. Anything to calm my racing heart and thoughts.

It didn't help.

I was on edge, angry and volatile.

I worked the rest of my shift with an anxious anger in my gut, snapping and growling at anyone who _looked_ at me funny.

I didn't see Jason the Asshole for the rest of my shift.

Good riddance.

I clocked out early, unable to stay in the building any longer. I spent the bus ride fuming, distracting myself with the adverts. Trying to think of anything but how I felt. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ignore the stinging, angry tears in my eyes. Trying not to let them fall.

 _I wanted to talk to someone_.

As the bus drove away, I almost turned toward Solar's.

Last call had been over an hour ago. The bar would be long closed. But I kept thinking about how perfect Grillby was to vent to. He was quiet, calm, nonjudgemental. What words he _did_ speak were well-thought out. His presence was warm. Calming.

I wondered if I knocked on the restaurant door, would he open shop for me?

Invite me into the little apartment above the bar to talk?

What even _were_ we?

I sighed, turning toward my apartment.

 _Whatever_ we were, it wasn't _friends_.

Grillby worked hard. He deserved his evenings to himself.

He didn't need to spend his time babysitting a stupid human having a panic attack.

I didn't want to bother him. Didn't want to be a nuisance.

I turned toward home, my footsteps slowing as the adrenaline finally faded.

I was sad.

Lonely.

 _Exhausted_.

By the time I got to my door all I could manage was a weak knock.

I heard the deadbolt slide with a click and waited for the door to open like it had every previous night.

It didn't, and I blinked at the handle. I hadn't heard footsteps walking away from the door.

_Did I mishear?_

_Am I so tired I'm_ hallucinating _?!_

I reached for the knob and pushed, blinking when the door opened.

So I wasn't going insane, yet.

Sans was on the couch, watching a sci-fi looking show. It was familiar, but not enough that I had seen it before. A reboot or something popular, I guessed, but I didn't look too close. I didn't have time for TV.

I slipped out of my shoes, trying to keep my breathing steady and calm. The anxiety bubbled up, and I straightened I glared at Sans' back. Resenting his intrusion into my apartment when I wanted to be alone.

The feeling faded as I reminded myself that it wasn't exactly _his_ choice.

He said nothing in greeting, but he did pause whatever was watching. He was alert, tracking my movement through the living areas without looking at me. Aware of where I was.

"You eaten?" I asked as I headed into the kitchen. My usual greeting, even though his answer was always the same.

"Yup," he said, and he pointed at a pile of coins on the coffee table. "There's the change."

"Thanks," I said as I put together a plate of leftovers, most of my attention elsewhere.

"Why don't y'give me the exact amount?"

I shrugged as I put my plate into the microwave and started shifting leftovers back into the fridge.

"Coins are annoying to deal with," I said. "I usually drop them into tip jars. What makes it back _here_ gets collected for those counting machines."

I thought about it for a moment longer as I opened the door of microwave, leaving the timer at 0:01.

I hissed softly as I burned my hand on the plate, moving it to the island so I could eat.

"My spare cash was, until recently, a bunch of larger bills. Twenties, mostly. Some fifties."

This was better, talking about something that didn't mean anything. Something concrete I could focus on. A distraction from the exhausted emotions that battled in my chest.

"So that's what's easiest to give you. But ... I also want to give you enough that you can change it up sometimes. Get a drink, or a milkshake. Get _two_ burgers. Whatever. Go wild."

He sank deeper into the couch somehow, shrugging in response.

"Sounds like work," he said with an exaggerated huff. "Speaking of, how was it?"

I stilled, just for a heartbeat, as the anxiety flared up in my chest again.

_Am I acting weird? Did he notice something?_

I shifted into a shrug, hoping he hadn't seen the tension.

 _It was a normal question. Act_ normal _._

"Fine," I said in a practiced calm. For all the years it had been since I'd used that tone, I fell back into it easily. Like wearing your favorite t-shirt when you were sinking in of a swamp.

It was comforting.

It was suffocating.

"Lots of ... running and finding random shit. People buy the weirdest things. People _sell_ the weirdest things. You know garden gnomes?" I asked.

Sans nodded, looking at me with a brow raised.

"How about Godzilla? Kaiju?" I asked. "Giant, city destroying, radioactive, lizard monsters?"

Sans looked at me, confusion obvious. "What kinda monsters?"

"Fictional," I clarified. "It's a whole genre."

"Never heard of it," Sans said. "Guess it wasn't popular in the Underground."

"Not surprising," I said with a shrug. "No big deal. It was just something I had to find tonight. Silly."

I dropped my plate in the sink to wash, not quite ready to go to bed.

Behind me, Sans started whatever he was watching. I listened to the cadence of the dialogue, tuning out the actual words.

The noise was exactly what I needed. Sound. Unobtrusive but there.

By the time I finished washing dishes, I was _done_.

"Night, then," I said as I left the living room with a wave and a yawn. "See you in the morning."

Sans made a noise somewhere between an acknowledgement and a snore. I didn't turn around to see if he was asleep or not. My exhaustion was overwhelming, and my hold on my emotions was weak.

I just wanted to be alone and sleep and forget.

I closed the door to my bedroom behind me, locking out the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Terra continues to have a bad day. On the other hand, she takes care of some outstanding tasks. Chapter will begin dark and end on a good note.
> 
> \---
> 
> Synopsis: Terra is confronted by a racist asshole of a coworker (Jason) who tries to manipulate her into a date. After insulting Terra and grabbing her without her consent, she loses it and threatens him in order to be let go.
> 
> Her manager then blames her clothing for the "unwanted attention."


	16. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: NIGHTMARE, SCARS FROM SELF HARM, DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SUICIDAL IDEATION
> 
> \---
> 
> Something a little different in this chapter: I have both Terra and Sans POVs intertwined. I have them marked, so it shouldn't be too awkward.

It's late.

The new moon casts shadows across my bedroom floor. The gauzy curtains over my window float in the breeze.

I look at the clock. 25:83 blinks back at me. Too early to be awake, but something is keeping me from sleeping.

My desk catches the corner of my eye as I look toward the door. I'm falling behind in class. I need to study for my exam tomorrow. I've been slacking off for too long.

Besides I can hear things from the hallway if I sit closer to the doorway.

I sit down and start reading.

"Theresa. No reading at the dinner table," my mother says firmly.

I look up from my book and see family dinner all spread out. Mom, my brothers, Abby ... everyone is here, and they're all staring at me expectantly. The novel in my hands is suddenly red hot.

I drop it under the table.

"Sorry." It comes out as a mumble.

She gives me an irritated roll of her eyes and turns back to everyone else to say grace.

The shadow at the head of the table moves toward me.

No one else acknowledges it, and I watch in detached horror as it begins wrapping around my leg.

Mother isn't buying me pants anymore, so it isn't difficult for the shadow to slip under my skirt.

"Theresa!" she snaps, drawing my attention back to her. She's glaring at me, all anger and rage. Abby and Sammy are at the table still.

Both of them look away as our mother screams at me.

It's nothing I haven't heard from her before.

She screams and it sounds like crickets. I turn my attention to my plate, letting her tire herself out with the tirade.

I eat the mashed potatoes carefully. I can't avoid the way they cut at the insides of my mouth. I don't complain about the taste of blood on my tongue. It's my own fault, anyway. I should have been more careful.

The shadow has surrounded me. Over my clothes, under them ... it's touching me everywhere. Whenever I manage to push some away it only increases, becoming clingier.

I'm covered in slime.

The smell overwhelms me. Old coffee, stale cigarettes, cheap liquor.

It clings to my skin and my mother calls me disgusting.

_She's right._

She sends me to my room without dinner. She won't even tell me why she's angry. Blood pours from my mouth. I use my shirt to wipe it up.

The slime follows me. It lingers as I shower and clings to me as I put on pajamas. I lay in bed and it lays with me, holding me down by my wrists. Wrapping around my waist.

It circles my arms and legs. Moves me like a marionette.

Everywhere the shadow touches I ignite. The flames engulf me, burn my nerves away like kindling. Leaving nothing but ash and smoke.

It is the only light, the only thing I can see. Outside of the flames is nothing.

There's no sound. No one around to help. No one who cares.

Nothing but darkness and void.

I scream.

**. . . . .**

I jolt awake, gasping as I struggle against phantom restraints. There's a weight on me, holding me down, preventing me from escaping. I look around wildly in the dark, unable to move, unable to even whimper for help. I hear my heartbeat in my ears, the beat wild and erratic.

Shadows taunt me from the dark.

As the paralysis fades I'm able to let out a strangled whimper. Cobwebs of anxiety and fear faded as the details of my nightmare recede into my subconscious. I'm left with emotions and fleeting memories.

I glance at my alarm clock, but don't register the time, the red numbers incoherent visual stimuli. I reach for my phone, only to find that it isn't on my nightstand.

I remember leaving it with Sans yesterday. I never took it back after I got home.

It was probably still out on the coffee table, battery slowly draining.

I sit up and turn on my lamp, banishing the shadows from my bedroom.

I rub at the phantom touches, wanting to scald them away with a hot shower. I look at my wrist, where Jason the Racist Asshole had grabbed me. A ring of bruises circle it, and I frown at the reminder.

I knew I should take a photo of the injury. Report it to my manager later today. File a complaint with the police.

My manager's "advice" replayed in my head, reminding me how little anyone would care.

I should at least tell Abby what happened.

I rubbed at my eyes and looked at my clock again, finally reading the time.

Two-sixteen in the morning.

I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. I wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep with my heart beating out of my chest. My first shift was at five in the morning.

Guess I was up for the day.

**. . . . Sans . . . .**

Sans startled from his light sleep in the early hours of the morning.

He stared at his ceiling, trying to figure out what had woken him.

He hadn't had a nightmare, hadn't been asleep long enough to have _any_ dreams.

He wondered if it was Theresa, getting up and ready for work. But another glance out his window confirmed that the sky was dark. It was far too early for her to be awake.

There were no noises above his room, the upstairs neighbors quiet and still.

 _Something was wrong_.

Sans closed his eyes and focused on the sounds of the night around him.

Distant traffic outside the window, a constant drone that he had become used to. Gentle wind whispering through the buildings of the city around him. Shuffling somewhere in the apartment.

Sans jumped to the door, teleporting so he made as little noise as possible.

The shuffling wasn't coming from the bathroom or Theresa's room.

 _Someone was in the living room_.

The sounds were soft, like someone was trying to not make too much noise. 

Sans frowned, considering the options.

Theresa _could_ be up still. But ... Her sleep debt was _massive_. He knew most nights she came home and immediately crashed for the paltry three or four hours she could get.

Abby had a key but there was no reason for her to be in the apartment this early in the morning.

Neither maintenance nor the landlord had a reason to be there.

Was it a burglar? Come to take what little the human had?

Sans reached for his magic to take another shortcut into the hallway. He didn't want to alert a thief with the sound of an opening door. He needed more information before he acted.

Eye sockets dark, the skeleton peeked into the living room. He held untempered magic at hand, ready to coalesce it to a usable form if necessary.

There, on the couch, was Theresa. Lit by the blue glow of the television, she was wrapped in a thick quilt and eating ice cream straight from the tub.

Sans sighed in relief, his eyelights blinking back as the tension in his bones eased.

But she shouldn't be awake.

 _Something was wrong_.

Sans watched as the human shoved another spoonful of melted ice cream into her mouth. He frowned as she shifted and pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes.

She was ... crying.

**. . . . Terra . . . .**

I watched the screen, shoveling spoonfuls of ice cream into my mouth as I watched the movie. The antics of the toddler on screen made me smile, reminding me of Chloe as a baby. I had always been so _relieved_ when she finally fell asleep while I babysat her. 

The monster on screen shared my relief as the toddler promptly conked out.

I rubbed at my eyes with my hand, sniffling and trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

 _I'm such a stupid crybaby_.

I glanced to the kitchen, half considering putting the rest of the ice cream back into the freezer. I had already eaten nearly the entire quart. The rest was melting into a soupy, sticky mess. My stomach ached.

As I looked back to the movie my eye caught on something in the hallway.

My skeletal roommate was staring at me like a villain from a slasher flick. His eyelights only visible as they glowed like stars in the dark.

I scrambled for the remote, barely avoiding spilling ice cream all over myself and the floor. I paused the movie and muted the TV, even though I'd had the volume almost all the way down.

"Sans!" I said in a hushed shout. "You scared me!"

As I regained my composure I frowned, "I didn't wake you, did I?"

He came fully into the living room, bare feet clicking on the wooden floor. He was wearing the same clothes he'd had on earlier, minus jacket.

It was the first time I had seen him without it. I couldn't help but stare at the bones of his arms as he came out of the shadows of the hallway. They almost glowed in the light of the TV.

Somehow he looked both spookier and softer.

He shrugged as he neared me, sparing a glance at the paused movie.

"Don't worry about it."

I put the ice cream container onto the coffee table before slumping deeper into my blanket.

"Sorry," I said, hoping it sounded sincere.

He waved off my apology.

"I'm a light sleeper," he said. "Doesn't take much to wake me."

I nodded in acceptance, wondering if that was why he napped so often. Did he have trouble sleeping with the noise of the city?

I wondered if there was anything I could get him to help with that. I should look into how to soundproof his room some.

I reached for my phone and made a note for myself.

Sans moved to sit on the other end of the couch. Close, but not touching.

I glanced at the time before I turned my phone back.

Three-thirty-three. I was finally getting tired again, but it was too late to go back to sleep. I only had half an hour before my alarm went off. I rubbed my eyes and turned back to the movie.

"What're we watchin'?" Sans asked as I was about to start the film again.

"Monsters Inc," I said. "Wanted something cute and simple."

_That didn't have romance._

I frowned, very aware of the movie I had chosen to watch and the _literal monster_ next to me on the couch.

"We can watch something else," I said, cringing at how it sounded like a question more than a suggestion. "Or I should ... probably go back to sleep?"

Sans shrugged, "Doesn't bother me. I know humans had stories about monsters before the Barrier broke."

I frowned, thinking of all the movies where monsters were the antagonists.

Or where the "monster" was a thinly-disguised allegory to human evil.

_The real monster is inside of us._

I started the movie and gave a quick explanation of the movie up to that point.

"Humans are considered toxic, dangerous. As a result, hijinks," I finished with a flourish of my hand.

Sans chuckled and I wondered if there was an equivalent to the real world.

There hadn't been much study into the ... softer sciences of the Underground. Sociology, psychology, philosophy, theocracy ... Most humans hadn't cared enough. Researchers were more interested in the Core and things like the dimension boxes. _Useful_ things.

Marketable things.

I wondered if humans had been considered dangerous to the Underground.

Given how monsters had ended up inside the mountain, I guessed we probably were.

Another scene went by and I considered taking my ice cream to the freezer. I immediately vetoed the plan and decided to finish the entire container.

Future me be damned.

"Why are you up so late?" Sans asked as I reached for the carton.

I paused just a second too long before hunching over my tub of ice cream, stirring at the melted mess as I spoke.

"Something ... unpleasant happened at work," I said. I was trying to keep my tone light despite the subject matter. Pretty sure I was failing.

"I had a nightmare. I get them a lot, actually."

I exaggerated a shrug and leaned back. "Usually I can get to sleep after one, but ... this one was different?"

I waved at the TV, movie still playing. "So I'm out here watching a movie to distract myself and eating ice cream until I feel sick. Just waiting for my alarm to go off so I can start my day."

Sans was quiet, watching me with dark sockets. I turned my attention back to the movie, trying to ignore the tense feeling in my stomach.

"That all?" he asked.

I glared at the bruise circling my wrist.

"Yeah," I said. "That's all. A shit day at work and some bad dreams. I'm ... kind of pathetic? Sorry."

Sans said nothing and I focused back on the movie. Occasionally I pointed out important characters and their role in the plot.

I closed my eyes.

. . . . .

I woke slowly, taking sensations in one at a time.

First: I was well rested.

Second: No alarms were going off, literally or metaphorically.

Finally: I was not in my bed.

I sleepily snuggled deeper into my blanket, unwilling to let the day begin when I felt so ... _content_. The sun warmed me, brighter than usual.

It felt like one of those rare, lazy Sunday afternoons when I would nap on the couch in the living room ...

...

...

...!

 _No_.

I bolted upright and fumbled for my phone, panicking before remembering I had left it on the coffee table.

It was there, plugged in and charged.

It was after twelve.

_Shit. Fuck!_

I pulled up the contact number for my housekeeping job and called in, frantic. I was only an hour late ... I could explain and go in immediately.

Maybe I wouldn't be in _too_ much trouble.

Maybe I _wouldn't_ lose my job.

Someone answered and my mind blanked.

"Uh ... This is Theresa? Navarro? I'm _so_ sorry I'm late, I don't know how I managed to sleep in. I can be there in half an hour."

"Calm down, Theresa," my manager said with a laugh. I sighed in relief that it was the _nice_ one, not the Evil Librarian. "We got a call earlier. Your friend said you were sick and needed the day off."

"Oh?" I asked, confused. "Who?"

"He just said he was a friend," my manager said. "It sounds like you're still under the weather. Don't worry about coming in today. Rest up and get well soon."

"Right," I said, dumbfounded. "Thank you."

I stared at my phone after disconnecting the call, confused.

I checked my call history and there it was. An outgoing call around ten this morning to my housekeeping job. Another outgoing call before that at four thirty, to the factory.

Had Sans called in sick for me? He was the only other person with access to my cellphone. _Why_? Why would he care?

I shook my head, deciding to deal with the mystery later. I needed to call my factory foreman, make sure I still had a job to go to in the morning.

Unfortunately his shift had ended around the same time as mine, and he was _long_ gone. The man who answered was at least able to tell me that I should still come in tomorrow, so I made a note to go early.

Maybe I could smooth things over.

I sighed as I dropped my phone to my side and fell back on the couch. Two fuck ups in a single week. What the hell was wrong with me?

Nothing to do about it now.

Sans appeared in the hallway, pulling his jacket over his arms. I waved at him without sitting up and he jumped.

He looked surprised to see me awake. 

I must have been pretty out of it last night.

"Hey," I croaked at him, feeling myself crashing from my morning panic attack. I turned to look at him, pushing myself back up into a sitting position. "We have a surprise five hour break! Wanna get your boney ass on the lease?"

To be completely honest, _I_ didn't want to do that now. I wanted to shower and relax a little before going back to my warehouse job.

Before potentially facing Jason the Asshat again.

I pulled myself up off the couch and stretched, trying to ease the kinks in my back.

The sectional couch was comfortable for a nap, but not for proper sleep. I always regretted my death naps on the couch.

Sans hadn't said anything. I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, eyelights fixated on my ... bare ... arms ...

 _Shit_.

I grabbed my blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders, hiding myself from view.

"Shit, sorry," I said in a rush as I passed him on my way to my bedroom. "Give me ten? I'll get dressed and we can get going."

I didn't look back at him before closing my door.

**. . . . Sans . . . .**

Sans had been planning to drop by Solar's and get both him and the human lunch. He knew that as long as Grillby's asshole of a human wasn't around, the fire elemental would be willing to extend a tab to Sans.

He could get the money from Theresa to pay it back later.

"Hey," she said from her spot on the couch, her voice rough from sleep.

He hadn't expected her to be awake.

When her alarm went off at four, it had woken him from his dozing. Terra had whined, wrapping herself more securely in her blanket.

Sans had been about to wake her when he noticed the dark bruises under her eyes. He had made the decision that the human was staying home. Sleeping in.

Stars knew she needed it.

He had known the human wasn't sleeping enough. Four hours night after night would have worn down _Papyrus_ , and _he_ was _made_ of energy. But he hadn't known about the nightmares.

He wondered how often she had them, how much sleep was lost to terrors in the night.

"We have a surprise five hour break," she said as she sat up. She sounded strained, pulled too thin. "Wanna get your boney ass on the lease?"

Sans shrugged, still recalibrating from the change of plans. She had slept almost exactly eight hours, which was the norm for humans.

He felt like he'd hit an ice patch in the Snowdin forest and gone right off a cliff.

He was about to answer her as his thoughts caught up to the present, but the response died on his tongue.

Terra stood to stretch, her quilt falling off of her shoulders and exposing her bare arms.

_"We nearly lost her."_

The skeleton couldn't tear his eyes from her exposed skin. His mind playing through what could cause the damage he saw.

Pale lines crossed puffy scars all over her upper arms. They intersected one another, sometimes neat and straight, other times jagged. A macabre star chart outlining constellations of pain.

It didn't paint a pretty sight.

_"For us it's more of a deliberate act."_

Those were nothing compared to the large, jagged scars on her forearms and wrists.

Sans was familiar with self harm. He knew, better than many, how it felt to be so low that you _wanted_ pain.

Because you felt nothing else at all.

He knew how guilt, emptiness, self-loathing could destroy every good thing. He knew how the pain let them feel something. Let them punish themselves for real or imagined weakness.

Let them release their anguish in a tangible way. Let them make it _real_.

_Alphys picking at her scales when she got too anxious, too depressed. Too guilty._

Suicide was another thing entirely.

It had been different when talking to Abby. There was a layer of distance.

Seeing the evidence of a failed attempt was visceral.

_How long had she suffered before those scars were made?_

Sans thought of the monsters who had fallen. Those who had lost hope, locked away in the dark.

So many friends, neighbors, acquaintances.

Parents, siblings, children ... lost to hopelessness and broken souls.

His thoughts turned dark.

Theresa should be _dead_. She should have died, her dust scattered and her family healing from her loss. Broken, but never forgetting her.

It should have happened long before most of those scars were fresh cuts.

Had she been a monster, she wouldn't be standing in front of him now.

She was _only_ alive because she was human. She survived because she had the _determination to live_.

 _It pissed him off_.

Why did _she_ deserve to live more than Shyren's sister? Or Mrs. Snowdrake? Every lost Astigmatism and Froggit and Whimsum?

What made _her_ more worthy than any of them?

Why were _humans_ the ones who could survive without hope?

_Was it surviving when they hurt themselves to keep going?_

Why was it _humans_ who could come back from _falling down_?

 _Was it any better that humans came_ back _from that despair?_

 _Did_ anyone _deserve to carry that weight?_

Theresa noticed his stare and looked down at herself in confusion. She squeaked in shame and shock as she realized what his attention was focused on. She spun away from him, grabbing her quilt to wrap around herself.

Hiding the scars from view.

 _Why were humans so_ goddamn _determined_?

"Sorry," she muttered as she passed Sans, her head down so he couldn't see her expression. "Gimme ten, I'll get dressed and we can get going."

Sans couldn't react before he heard her bedroom door slam.

He _hated_ humans for their determination. It had led to nothing but trouble.

The weed, the kid, the amalgamates ... Every time _determination_ came into it, people got hurt. People _suffered._

He _hated_ that he knew what it felt like to fail to end it. Even _if_ his survival was only because of a ... technicality.

 _The knowledge that even in dying, you failed_.

Sans sat next to the front door and began pulling on his shoes.

He was angry, but the anger was cooled by the sight of her scars. His soul cried out in empathy for her, for whatever had happened to drive her to such extremes.

He was _angry_.

He didn't trust the human.

He couldn't understand her, couldn't read her motives.

He _hated_ knowing more about her.

... But the way her expression had crumpled when she realized what he had seen.

... The way she had hidden herself so quickly.

... The way she had rushed down the hall, hiding her face from him ...

He was angry.

He didn't trust her.

But he couldn't hate her. Not anymore.

**. . . . Terra . . . .**

As soon as I closed the bedroom door I collapsed into tears.

Sans had seen my arms.

He had seen my _scars_.

I _never_ left the apartment without my arms covered, even in the dead of summer. Most people didn't question it.

Those who did got a well-rehearsed excuse.

Usually I slept in long-sleeved shirts as well.

But last night it had felt too confining, so I had worn a camisole instead.

I looked at my left arm, tracing along the scars with my eyes.

I followed the light, uneven lines that cross-crossed my skin. A permanent reminder of my self destruction. A painful habit I had only managed to halt six months ago.

I sat, wrapping my arms around my stomach and pulling my knees toward my face.

 _He saw my scars_.

 _No one_ saw my scars. I kept them hidden as often as possible.

Whenever someone saw them I ceased being a _person_. I stopped being a human being. Instead I became a porcelain doll. Damaged, defective, a _burden_. Too weak to do anything without constant supervision.

It drove people away.

It made me feel _broken_.

At least Abby had an excuse. She had been the one to find me when ...

When I had tried to opt out.

When my self harm had turned into suicidal ideation.

And ideation turned to _action_.

I shook my head, pushing myself back to my feet. I needed to get on with my day. I didn't have enough time to feel sorry for myself.

Didn't have time to dwell on how dysfunctional I was.

 _It was just Sans_.

I sorted through clothes from one of the "clean" piles on the floor. I was looking for something nice enough for a chat with the landlady.

Not so nice I would _have_ to change before I went back to the warehouse for my evening shift.

Which I couldn't afford to miss, even if I wanted to. I was already out a good chunk of pay for the day.

 _It's not like he'll care_.

I found some nice pants and a polo over a long-sleeved undershirt. A quick pit check and I got dressed.

At least I _looked_ like a functional adult.

I went into the bathroom, splashing cold water onto my face to wash away the worst of the tear tracks and puffiness. I checked the buttons of the polo self consciously.

I was still angry about what my manager had said. How she had implied I'd _asked_ for harassment.

 _Assault_.

I only had one of the three buttons done, but that was standard.

I buttoned up the second one.

I closed the bathroom door behind me as I walked into the living room.

Sans was slipping on his pink tennis shoes. He tucked the laces into the sides instead of lacing them, and I rolled my eyes.

I smiled as he stood and I realized which shirt he was wearing.

Schrödinger's cat.

I came up with half a joke, something to do with space-time and catnaps, but I couldn't figure out a way to make it work.

"Hope I'm not messing up Sans Time," I said with an apologetic shrug, hoping I sounded natural. "But ... this really is the best chance we're gonna get to put you on the lease before Halloween. I think we'd both rather have one less thing to worry about."

Sans nodded, expression neutral. I smiled as I grabbed my keys and held the door open for him.

I hoped he wouldn't ask me about the scars.

I rubbed at my arms through the fabric of my shirt.

They itched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Chores, chores, chores. Terra can't rest for a minute.
> 
> \---
> 
> This took so long because I couldn't get the dream to _feel right_. At first it was _way_ too literal, which just ... isn't how dreams work. Finally I made a list of feelings I wanted to evoke and then just wrote what came to mind with those as themes. I'm pretty happy with it now!
> 
> \---
> 
> A continuing "THANK YOU" to my beta reader, [The Writing Mobster!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Writing_Mobster/pseuds/The_Writing_Mobster)
> 
> Their fic [What Do You Want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22527019/chapters/53828266) is super fun and I highly recommend it, AND it's had some really awesome climatic things happen recently. It's great!


	17. Landlords and Leases / Lock and Key / Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terra takes care of some things that should have been done a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: None that I know of

**Landlords and Leases**

I had expected to find my landlady at the front desk. Her bright red perm a beacon in the building lobby.

Instead it was her dark haired daughter behind the desk. She had her head down, busy with something I couldn’t see.

“Moira!” I called as I walked over. I tried not to fidget too much with the sleeves of my shirt. Part of me wanted to bolt back upstairs, back into my bedroom, find something to cover my arms further. Arm warmers or fingerless gloves. I didn’t. “It’s been a while!”

The woman jumped, looking up to smile at me.

“Theresa Navarro!” she said with a wide grin. “It _has_ been a while. How is your sister?”

“Doing great,” I said.

Moira was one of Abby’s friends. Her first client when she was a new lawyer, fresh out of law school.

Moira had married a real piece of work. He had cheated on her and when she called for divorce he flipped on her. Claiming she was abusive and neglectful toward their kids. Near the end of the proceedings, when she had sought out Abby, Moira had little left.

It was looking like she wasn’t going to even have _visitation_ with her kids.

Abby had _happened_ to learn about what was going on, and had offered Moira help. Moira hadn’t dared hope for more than weekend visitation. Her ex-husband was vindictive, rich, and had friends in the right places.

Abby was tenacious. She spent all her time on the case, eventually finding proof that the ex was abusive. Both to his former mistress and to the children.

Moira left court with full custody and generous child support.

Her ex left with supervised visitation. He’d even been forced to pay Moira’s legal fees.

Every year or two he dragged everyone back to court.

Every year or two Abby continued to win the case against him.

She had joked once that he kept her in business.

Moira held her phone out to me, flipping through photos too fast for me to see them.

“My Mizuki just had her _eighth_ birthday! Can you believe it?”

She paused on a picture and I finally recognized the little girl int he photos. She had a big gap toothed smile and a plastic tiara.

“Little girl’s growing up,” Moira said with a sigh as she pulled her phone back. She stared at the image with a fond smile. “I’m in your sister’s debt.”

She stared at the picture on screen for a few more seconds before placing the device screen-down on the table in front of her. “Look at me, gushing about Mizuki when you’re a busy woman. What can I do for you?”

“I need to get him on my lease,” I said with a glance back at Sans.

The monster was standing behind me and to the left, looking bored and disinterested. He tensed when he saw my eye on him, then shifted into a scowl, rolling his shoulders forward.

Moira hummed in acknowledgement, opening her laptop.

“Never thought you would own a monster,” she admitted as the computer booted. Her tone was conversational and curious, enquiring without demanding explanation.

My chest tightened with self-accusatory anxiety, and I forced myself to remain calm.

“It’s a surprise for me, too,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. I shrugged and chuckled, ignoring the discomfort that settled in my gut.

“Well, I’m certain you have a good reason,” Moira said gently. She knew how uncomfortable I was. I hadn’t exactly hidden it.

Then she laughed.

“I’m glad you caught _me_ instead of mom! She would have all _sorts_ of questions. You’d have to listen to her ramble while she found the paperwork.” Moira rolled her eyes in affectionate exasperation. “She doesn’t trust computers. Still sends me the physical files once a week to digitize for her.”

“With how much she prints out I wouldn’t have guessed,” I admitted with a laugh.

I was convinced that the landlady was keeping the paper industry alive single handed. She printed handouts and notices for the entire building, occasionally _daily_. Whenever she deemed something important enough to share I’d find a new note pinned to my door. Or in my mailbox. Chain emails, inspiration quotes, quirky memes … I never quite knew what to expect.

She seemed to be quite comfortable with computers.

On the other hand, it had taken nearly _six hours_ to transfer the lease into my name. I’d waited as she figured out where the preprinted paperwork was filed.

I had suggested printing new paperwork, since that would be easier, but she refused.

I was still a little salty about it. I had ended up missing a shift and losing a job because of it.

“There is a small fee for monsters, but I’ll waive that in honor of Mizuki’s birthday,” Moira said with a wink. She put her laptop on the counter so I could see the details. “You have plenty of room, and I assume he’s not dangerous. He _is_ well … controlled, right?”

“He’s not a wild animal,” I said, gritting my teeth in an attempt to be polite. When she stared at me, waiting for an answer, I sighed. “Of course he’s not dangerous.”

I couldn’t blame her. The media was constantly demonizing monsters, making them out to be little more than beasts. A lot of people believed the propaganda and lies, even though the evidence wasn’t there to support it.

Since breaking the barrier no monster had harmed a human outside of self-defense. The opposite was not true.

“How much is the fee?” I asked getting the topic off of the mistreatment of monsters.

I didn’t want to get into _that_ particular argument right now. Certainly not with Moira.

I also didn’t like the idea that I was getting something for free. _Abby_ had helped Moira, not me. I felt like I was using my sister, and it felt like a scummy thing to do.

“One fifty per monster,” Moira said, and my conscience cleared. I _could_ afford it but only barely. If Moira was willing to waive the fee, I wasn’t going to say no.

Moira sighed, “We had to put it in place after someone in another building had … well … Monster insurance is new and it’s still _full_ of problems. The monster did _massive_ amounts of damage - nearly burned the place down. We had to gut the entire unit, as well as the ones above and below. We’re lucky no one got hurt. We’re lucky we didn’t lose the _building entirely_.”

I stared at Moira, wide-eyed and wondering what the monster had _done_ to cause that much damage.

“After that we found a good insurance company,” she continued. “The deposit goes to cleaning costs usually. If something happens it goes to paying our deductible. It’s just like any other security deposit.”

“Recurring?” I asked with a frown, already trying to figure out where I could find an extra hundred fifty dollars a month.

“No,” Moira said. “No. It’s more like a pet deposit. There will be no increase to your rent.”

I nodded, relaxing a little.

Moira switched from friendly conversation to customer service in a blink, leaving me behind.

“Let’s see … do you have his ID number handy?”

I scrambled to pull Sans’ paperwork from my bag, disoriented by the switch back to business. I stopped when he began saying the number instead. Slow and clear, enunciating it so she could type it in and he wouldn’t have to repeat it.

Moira verified the number as I watched, out of place.

“Your full name?”

“Sans,” he said in that same clear way. “S-A-N-S.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Sans,” Moira said with a bright smile. She held out her hand to him. “My name is Moira Edamura.”

Sans looked at her outstretched hand uncertainly, before cautiously taking it in his own.

“You too.”

She smiled as she pulled away, returning to the form on her laptop.

“Do you have a last name? A surname, family name, patronym, anything like that?”

“Nope,” Sans said with a shrug.

“Most monsters don’t, I’ve gathered,” Moira said. She tried clicking away from the box but the computer kept highlighting it in red. “Ugh, why can’t I leave it blank?”

“Put ‘the Skeleton,’ ” Sans suggested. “That should be enough to differentiate me from any other ‘Sanses’ out there.”

I blinked at him. His words had a bite to them, sarcastic and cynical.

Was ‘Sans’ a common name in the Underground or something? I wasn’t sure.

“Thank you!” Moira said, ignoring or ignorant of Sans’ change in tone.

The computer accepted the additional information and Moira turned to me. We went through my information, verifying that everything was correct. Simple to do even if I had to pull out my wallet to check my license number.

“And your emergency contacts,” Moira said as I put my bag back together. “They’re still Alexander Moore, Abigail Moore, and Karen Mi-”

“Take her off,” I said quickly, speaking over my mother’s surname. “It’s only Abby and Xander now.”

Moira frowned and I could see the conflict in her. She had known Xander for over a decade, Abby nearly as long. She was familiar with the dynamics in my family.

She was someone who believed family, for better or worse, was important. That they should stick together.

She wanted to pry, get me to explain why my mom was getting the boot. At the same time she wanted to respect my privacy.

“We got in a fight,” I explained with a sigh, half expecting a lecture. “It’s been a long time coming. I cut her off.”

Moira hummed and removed my mother from the paperwork. I almost didn’t hear her mutter.

“About time.”

I grinned.

“The last thing I need is _both_ your signatures,” she said. I heard the laser printer in the office start up.

“By signing _you_ are agreeing to not destroy the apartment,” she said to Sans. Then she turned to me as she continued, “And if Sans _does_ destroy it _you_ will be responsible for damages not covered by the insurance and deposit. It’s the same as any other security deposit and otherwise your lease is the same.”

“Sounds great,” I said with a nod. Moira got up and walked into the back office.

I turned to Sans.

“She’s the daughter of the landlady,” I explained. I didn’t know if he cared or not, but I felt less awkward. Filling silence with meaningless chatter. “Abby helped her get custody from an abusive ex.”

Sans didn’t respond, hands in pockets and eye sockets dark. With a sigh I turned back to the office, standing a little straighter when Moira came out of the back office.

I skimmed through the documents she handed me, making sure there weren’t any surprises. I didn’t expect any, but my sister was a lawyer.

I _never_ signed anything without reading it first.

I scrawled my messy signature on the line and slid the pen and paper to Sans.

He “signed” his name in bold, almost childish block letters.

sans

He must have heard me snicker at it a little, or he saw my grin as he passed back the paperwork.

“My bro got the fancy writing genes,” he said with a shrug.

I pointed at the first letter. “I was _actually_ laughing at the fact that you’re too lazy to capitalize your _own name_.”

Sans shrugged again, deeper this time, and winked at me.

“Bro got the capital letter genes, too.”

Again it seemed like he was joking. That it would be funny, if only I had more information.

Sans was confusing me, and I didn’t understand why. I wasn’t even certain it was _him_ , or if I was still hypersensitive from this morning.

I sighed and pushed the thoughts away.

“Can I get a copy of this?” I asked as I flipped through the paperwork again.

“Of course! Email? or would you like it printed out?”

“Email,” I said. A physical copy would only serve to get lost in the paperwork vortex of my apartment. Better to have it digital and be able to find it.

“I’ll get that to you as soon as possible,” Moira said with a nod. She pulled out a sticky note and scribbled herself a note. “Anything else you need today?”

I thought for a moment, about to tell her there wasn’t, when …

“Actually, yeah,” I said. “What are the rules on what I can do with the apartment in terms of … customization?”

Moira looked at me, her expression guarded.

“What are you wanting to change?”

“Replacing some interior doorknobs,” I said. “Adding locks.”

“Oh!” Moira said with a relieved sigh.

 _What had she been_ expecting _me to say?_

“That’s completely fine,” she continued. “If you bring the old hardware to us we’ll deal with disposal. As for general customization, anything nonpermanent is allowed. As long as it’s easy to cover up or patch. We _do_ ask that you limit painting to accent walls.”

I nodded even though I wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying near the end. I didn’t want to paint the walls anyway.

Too much work. Beige was fine.

“Awesome,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” Please tell your sister I say ‘hello,’ would you?” Moira asked as I pushed away from the counter.

“I will,” I said before I turned back to Sans.

“Solar’s?”

. . . . .

**Lock and Key**

I pulled the door open for Sans as I went through my mental “to do” list. I still had plenty of time before my last shift.

I could run one more important errand. At least.

“Hey,” I said as Sans passed me, stopping him. “I have another errand to run,” I said when he turned to look at me. “Could you order for me and hang out for a while?”

Sans’ expression went through a few emotions, before settling on a confused stare.

“I don’t think Apollo will give you any problems,” I said. “You shouldn’t need a pass. I’ll be back pretty quickly … an hour at most? Half that, more than likely.”

“Sure,” Sans shrugged and turned away from me. He tilted his head back a little, “Burger and fries?”

“Perfect,” I said with a nod. “I’ll be back soon.”

I waved and jogged down the street to the hardware store.

Once independent, it was now owned by a larger company while operating under its former name.

I glanced around as I entered, noticing the Halloween displays and decorations for sale.

I wandered over to glance through them, since I loved the holiday.

The general decor hadn’t changed much in the years since monsters became a reality. I knew some monsters were bothered by it.

Some felt hurt that there were only horrific, twisted versions of themselves.

Others didn’t care, or chalked it up to more human intolerance.

I wondered which camp Sans fell into.

I flinched barely repressing a yelp as one of the motion activated ghouls jumped at me. I glared at it as it laughed at me.

I fucking hated the motion activated nonsense.

I took the shock as a cue to get on with my errand. I pulled myself away from the Halloween decor and made my way to the aisle of doorknobs and locks.

It only took me a few minutes to find ones that more-or-less matched what was already in my apartment. Not identical, but close enough to not matter. I grabbed two, one for Sans’ room and one for the empty spare.

Then I looked for the key cutting machine.

It was near the front, a little offset across from the seasonal section. Within eyesight of the registers, but far enough that it wouldn’t drown out the cashiers.

I grumbled under my breath when I saw it needed an employee code to use, despite looking automated.

Of _course_ I wouldn’t be able to do this on my own. That would be too easy.

I walked to the nearest manned cash register and got the attention of the bored-looking teenager behind it.

“I need a key cut?” I said, more question than statement.

“Sure,” he said, monotone and nasal. He sounded almost like he had the flu, and I took a step back. “Let me get my manager.”

“Thanks,” I said, in what I hoped was a friendly manner. I pointed back to the machine. “I’ll be over there.”

“Whatever,” he said.

He was definitely bored.

I looked through the cheap, plain key blanks until I found one that looked similar to my own. Then I made the mistake of looking at the more expensive blanks.

I went to the animal prints first, chuckling at the idea of a _key_ bra or a _key_ tah - although the latter was a leopard print. I briefly lamented the lack of any mon _keys_.

I snorted at the Mic _key_ Mouse, which felt _close_ to a good joke, but not near enough.

I wasn’t sure Sans knew who the famous mouse was, anyway. He hadn’t shown any recognition when I had mentioned Disney before.

My puns didn’t improve any as I continued on. All boiling down to replacing syllables with the word “key”.

It was starting to not sound like a real word in my head.

“You need a key cut?” A deep, rumbling bass asked behind me.

“Yeah!” I said as I turned quickly.

And found myself face to chest with a man who wrestled bears in his spare time.

I was dwarfed. He was over six feet tall and built like a truck. His arms were thicker than my calves, and his calves - while covered by a pair of blue jeans - were as thick as tree roots.

Middle aged, red and black flannel, a full beard that would put one of Tolkien’s dwarves to shame.

All he needed was an axe, a red toque, and a thermos of soup and he would have been a stereotypical lumberjack.

“Y-Yeah,” I stuttered as I held out my house key and the blank. “Just the one.”

The lumberjack took my house key and the blank before turning to start up the machine.

“This the blank you want to use?” he asked, attention on the machine as he fit my house key in.

“Ye-” I started, but stopped as something caught my eye.

I hadn’t seen the blank during my previous perusal, but it … it was _perfect_.

A molded skull.

“Hold on,” I said as I reached for the blank. I was already working on thinking up a joke to go with it. “Can I use this one instead?”

I had never cut my own keys. I knew there were different sizes and shapes for blanks, but I didn’t know how to tell them apart. Or how interchangeable they were.

He picked up the key and looked at it before nodding.

“Want two keys or just one?”

“Just one,” I said.

He grunted an acknowledgement, putting the plain blank away and setting the machine to cut the fancy one. I watched him work, frowning in frustration as I realized how much a waste of time the process was.

The most complex part of the operation was reading the clear directions on the touchscreen. I could have done this whole thing myself if I’d had access.

Of course, if I did it myself I wouldn’t be getting the _best key ever_ since I wouldn’t have known if the blank was appropriate.

I glanced at the display again.

I wondered if I should get a keychain, too.

“Got a boyfriend, then?” The lumberjack asked as the machine started up, shrilly carving away at the metal. “Maybe a girlfriend?”

I blinked, pulled from my thoughts about key rings.

“New roommate,” I answered without really thinking. I looked up at him, confused. “Why?”

“When young ladies come in to get a key made it’s _usually_ so they can give it to their partner,” he explained. He pointed at the machine. “You got an expensive key, so you care about whoever it is. Might be out of touch but I assumed that the badass keys are more popular with guys.”

I nodded, understanding and uncertain how best to respond. It made sense, but I hadn’t even looked at the key as badass.

I had chosen the skull because it was for a skeleton monster and I thought I was clever.

That wasn’t something I was going to say out loud.

The man nodded back and turned back to the cutter, watching as the process finished.

I chose a few keyring and carabiners, hoping one of them appealed to Sans.

“Here you go,” the mountain of a man said as he handed me my things. I juggled them to slip my keys into my bag.

The newly cut key was warm, and I slid it into my pocket.

“Have the cashier scan this receipt for that cut key, and you’re good to go.”

“Thank you,” I said as I took the slip of paper.

“Of course,” he said. “Have a wonderful day.”

. . . . .

**Souls**

Sans was at the bar, signing something I couldn’t see. Grillby stared at him for a moment before his flames flared in a little poof and he walked away.

I could see the skeleton’s shoulders shaking as he laughed.

I snorted. Definitely a joke. Probably a bad one.

I slid into the empty seat beside Sans, giving Grillby a smile and a wave as he left to attend to other customers. It was still lunch rush and I didn’t expect to be talking to him much today.

“Hey Sans,” I said, my voice thick with humor. I pulled the key from my pocket. “Do you know what boney people use to get into their homes?”

Sans turned to me, his smiling skull devoid of emotion. He didn’t seem interested.

I placed the key on the counter in front of him, covering it with my hands.

“It’s a … _skeleton key_!” I said as I lifted my hands and waved them in a little fanfare.

Sans looked from my hands to the key and then back to my face before picking the object up.

“It’s to the apartment,” I explained. “You won’t have to use mine anymore. That means you don’t have to stay up all night waiting for me to get home. Once you get home I dub you free of responsibility.”

“You made a key for me?” he asked. He tried to hide it, but I could hear the edge of disbelief in his tone.

“Yeah, of course. I told you it’s your hom too. I meant it.”

He turned the key over in his hand.

“How long did it take you to find one with a skull?”

“I almost didn’t see it,” I admitted. “But not long. I was gonna get you a normal, _boring_ key. But as soon as I saw it I _knew_ it was the key for you.”

He didn’t respond and I fretted. Worried I had overstepped or offended him. Maybe I should have gotten the boring key instead -

He laughed.

Just a snort, but it was enough to banish my fretful anxiety.

 _‘Fuck yeah,’_ I thought with a mental fist pump.

“I couldn’t resist,” I said. “You like it?”

“S’alright,” Sans said as he stared at the key. His eyelights sparked, a flicker of a glow. His smile looked softer. “Thanks.”

I smiled, putting a checkmark in my mental “win” category. Grillby Brough my burger and fries over, sliding the plate across the counter to me.

“ … Drink?” He asked.

I considered.

I didn’t want to deal with the leftover bullshit from last night sober. But if I had a drink it was early enough that I’d probably be sober by the time my shift started.

And if I wasn’t, well … despite not wanting to be sober, I didn’t want to be incapacitated if I had to deal with _Jason_ again.

“Just water,” I said. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t I tell you that you can use AS- er … Hands if you’re more comfortable?”

Grillby’s expression softened as he handed me a water bottle. He signed _‘Thank you’_ before returning to work.

Sans glared after him as he left.

“His _human_ told him not to use Hands unless asked.”

I frowned at my burger, the information settling in my gut like a rock. Uncomfortable and heavy.

“That … doesn’t really sound like Apollo.”

“He’s an asshole,” Sans said.

“He can be,” I admitted as I took a bite of my burger. I swallowed before continuing. “But … he’s usually _not_. His soul is green and yellow. Isn’t yellow justice? And green is kindness, I thought.”

Sans stared at me, his expression unreadable. I glanced over at Grillby with a frown.

I remembered all the times Apollo had taken Grillby’s tips, claiming it was for the good of the business.

I remembered how the fire elemental had dealt with broken glasses for months while Apollo knew. They had eventually been replaced, but I didn’t know how much that was because of Apollo. How much of it was due to _me_ tipping Grillby so well.

I thought of how often Grillby was the only employee working a full shop. Dealing with the anger of impatient humans all on his own.

“He’s … not very fair to Grillby, though,” I said softly. More to myself than to Sans.

“How do you know that?”

“Know what?” I asked. How did I know Apollo didn’t treat Grillby well? Wasn’t it obvious?

“How do you know about his soul?”

Ah. That made more sense.

“How do I know the color? He told me,” I said with a wave of my hand, not understanding the monster’s shock.

“He _told_ you?” Sans asked, looking up from my fries in shock.

“Yeah,” I said as I put my burger down. “The colors aren’t any different than your blood type or your horoscope sign for most people.”

When Sans didn’t say anything I sighed and continued on, staring blankly at the wall.

“Before the Barrier broke, humans considered souls to be something spiritual. Intangible, unprovable, under the domain of philosophy and religion, not science. Then monsters came to the surface and suddenly souls were _real_. They could be called forward by a monster,” I noticed Sans eyeing my fries, so I pushed my plate over to him. “There was a huge craze to learn your soul color. People would find a monster and have their soul ‘read’.” I reached over and picked up my burger again, contemplating it as I spoke. “Most only cared about the color.”

I wasn’t hungry. I knew I would regret it if I didn’t eat more, but my appetite was completely gone.

“Someone released an app that claimed to tell your fortune based on soul color. Like a daily horoscope. That was when Apollo got into it. As soon as he found out his colors he started incorporating them into _everything_.”

He had bleached his red hair and dyed it green.

It had _not_ been a good look.

“It was short lived, but intense.” I forced myself to eat another bite. After I swallowed I cocked my head at Sans. “I’m surprised you didn’t know about it.”

“Didn’t hang around humans much,” Sans shrugged and popped a fry into his mouth. “So, what. You found a random monster to take out your soul?”

“A lot of people did,” I said with a nod. I picked up a fry and played with it as I spoke. “I know some monsters made a business out of it. _I_ didn’t. It felt too personal. I didn’t have any monster friends, either.”

An understatement to say the least. I hadn’t had many _friends_. Monster or otherwise.

Not that my number of friends had _increased_ any since then.

“I ran in pro-monster circles, but I never actually got to _know_ any monsters.”

Even if I had, I didn’t know that I would ever trust someone with my soul like that.

I didn’t know if I trusted _myself_ with my soul.

“I didn’t want to know my color.” I explained, refusing to look at Sans. “Even if I’d had a monster friend back then, I don’t think I _would_ have asked them to show me. I wouldn’t now.”

I had been curious until I went with Abby when she had her soul read.

I don’t remember the monster who did it at all. But I remembered feeling overwhelmed with the presence of _Abby_ as soon as her soul manifest over her chest. My own heart reached for the feeling, for the gentle smiles and warm laughter. For her dedication to the innocent and determination to make wrong things _right_.

I could even feel the darker parts that made up my sister, although I couldn’t name them. Trauma, mistakes, regrets, guilt.

Her soul had been … _her_. Honey gold and bright and beautiful. Blinding. A miniature sun concealed within her chest, on display for an eternity wrapped in the briefest heartbeat.

 _It was Abby_ , distilled to her purest form.

And I knew, if I ever had my soul read, I would feel the same thing.

But for myself.

I shoved the fry in my mouth, determined to stop thinking about it.

“You learn about traits the same way?” Sans asked as he took another fry.

Which he used to scoop up a full _tablespoon_ of ketchup.

I shuddered, holding my revulsion at bay despite the excessive condiment use. I shook my head as I answered.

“Most people only found out the color. They didn’t care to pay attention to what the colors _meant_. I think a lot of people didn’t even realize the colors correlated with traits. Even the app I mentioned only listed broad color categories.” I frowned, listing them off on my fingers. “I think they used red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and violet, but I can’t fully remember. Might have had some other colors in there too, like magenta or something.”

I shook my head, realizing I had gone off on a tangent. I forced myself back on topic, “Anyway, there was a lecture on souls at Ebbot U. Free to the public.”

It had been an effort toward peace. An attempt to bring understanding to humans who lacked magic, to share knowledge across the racial divide.

It was _supposed_ to explain how weak monsters were compared to humans, as well as why monsters collected human souls over the years.

Unfortunately, that had been spun into “They collect human souls!” and people stopped listening. The auditorium had been nearly empty when I had gone to the lecture.

“The presenter talked about the differences between monster and human souls.

I picked up the rest of my burger. I was going to finish it, even thought I didn’t want to. “She discussed her theories on how human souls develop traits and colors, why traits and colors seem to correlate … She talked about how souls change throughout life.”

Although there were large gaps in her data. Human souls had only become important after the Barrier went up. At that point they were precious commodities, tools of survival. They weren’t something that could be studied easily.

I took a bite of my burger as my thoughts turned dark.

Best case scenario, the scientist who had given the presentation was a slave now. Working in some lab on something that would make her owners a lot of money. If I remembered she had credentials in a few fields - particularly soul biology and robotics.

“She went over the broad colors and traits, focusing mostly on the traits of the Fallen Humans,” I said, pushing my dark thoughts away. “She talked about how the traits influence people’s actions and beliefs. It’s one of the few things I remember from her talk.”

The list of colors and traits was actually one of the few things I still _had_ from the lecture. I had tried to find the presenter’s research afterward but … everything turned sideways and I lost most of the coursework.

I didn’t even remember the monster’s name.

I finished off my burger and remembered the bag at my side. “I got you something else, too!”

I handed the hardware store bag to Sans with a smile after wiping my hands off.

“There’s some keychains and stuff, you can take whatever you like. There’s _also_ a new knob for your door. One that locks. I can install it on Sunday, but if you want it before that I can show you where the tools are.”

Sans took the bag from me, glancing inside to confirm that it contained the items I said. He reached in to shuffle the keychains around.

“The other knob is for the spare room,” I said. “Privacy is important and I want you to have a place that’s all yours. If you want to give me a key to your room, that’s great. But if you don’t, I get it. The room is yours. I’ll only enter with your permission.”

I pushed the empty plate across the bar counter and stretched, wincing as I felt my back pop. I waved at Grillby, motioning that I was ready to pay.

“Please don’t get us evicted,” I said with a smile. “That’s my one rule. No death cults or animal sacrifices.”

“What if they’re _small_ animals?” Sans asked.

I snorted at his tone, but considered the question.

“How _small_ ,” I asked for clarification. “I mean … compared to an elephant a goat is small, but sacrificing a goat - while traditional - is still out of the question. I don’t even know how you would get it up the stairs.”

Before Sans could answer I held up a hand.

“Actually, no. No sacrifices. I’d rather not deal with the tortured souls of a bunch of roaches or bedbugs. They’re bad enough when they’re alive. And anything bigger than that would be too messy.”

“Alright, no death cults,” Sans agreed. “But what are your policies on pets?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Terra deals with the fallout from her asshole coworker
> 
> \---
> 
> [This is the key blank Terra found for Sans](https://imgur.com/eR5QduE). The others she looked at were a zebra-print key and a leopard-print key (the keybra and keytah).
> 
> I spent way too long looking at key blanks and making up stupid puns. Like Terra, 99% of them were just replacing syllables with "key".
> 
> \---
> 
> Also, on the day that I wrote the original first draft of this, I looked up Terra's horoscope (the original draft had Terra showing Sans her horoscope to explain them, then I remembered that Sans knows what they are).
> 
> _There could be an unexpected wrinkle in your plans. But don't worry. This accident could actually turn out to be a positive thing. By being forced to alter your plans and come up with another solution, you could add a great deal of value to a project. You might need to work with someone else today, and this partnership will clearly show how well you two work together. You'll have fun while you brainstorm. It could be a very productive day in a lot of ways._
> 
> It seemed to fit the situation well, I thought.


	18. Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: Fallout from the events of Chapter 15, Emotional fatigue

The Great Pet Debate continued all the way back to the apartment.

And then some.

I was sitting on the floor by the couch, sorting through a toolbox full of mismatched tools. Looking for the right cross-head screwdriver to replace Sans' doorknob.

"I think we've narrowed it down," I said, leaning back and counting off the rules on my fingers. "As long as the pet makes no mess, no noise, requires zero care, and is cheap or free to get, I'm fine with it."

Sans snorted from his place on the couch. "That all?"

I considered the question. Trying to think of any loopholes in the rules that would let him bring home something terrible.

The image of a taxidermy eyesore sitting in the living room came to mind.

Like my life was some sort of dramedy on prime time TV.

"I can't have once _been_ alive. No dead things in the apartment. Unless we're eating them."

I pulled a screwdriver out of the box, comparing it to the screws at my side. Close, but I thought I had something closer. I set the screwdriver aside and kept looking.

"Except, y'know, _you_ ," I teased.

"I resemble that remark," Sans quipped back. I grinned, adding the interaction to my 'success' pile. Not quite a "fuck yeah" success, since he didn't laugh, but it was close enough.

Like horseshoes and grenades, jokes got points based on proximity.

"Whatever this magical no-work pet is? I get to name it," I added. I pulled out another screwdriver and tested the tip in the screw. Perfect fit. "Here's the right screwdriver for the job. I'll leave it on the coffee table."

I glanced at my phone before standing, checking the time. Ninety more minutes before I needed to leave to get to my job.

I picked up the toolbox and took it out to the balcony storage, debating how to use the rest of my free time.

My first thought was taking care of some pending research on how to be a good "owner." Draining and exhausting research that it left me feeling like shit, but _important_.

I slumped on the couch at Sans' feet, planning on pulling out my laptop, when I finally noticed the book in his hands.

"Hey! That's my old copy of Hitchhiker's Guide," I said, feeling the grin light up my face. "That's one of my favorite trilogies! I'm pretty sure there's five books total? Maybe six, but the last one was written by someone else."

Sans looked at me over the top of the paperback, brow raised in curiosity.

"That's double a usual trilogy."

"Yep!" I agreed with a shrug. "How are you liking it?"

The monster shrugged as he turned his attention back to the story.

"S'alright."

I realized I wouldn't be getting much more out of him.

I went back to my previous task of figuring out what to spend my time on.

I got up to get the notepad I had been using to write his "hall pass" on.

"I don't remember if I've told you," I said as I made my way to the kitchen table. "Any books in the apartment are free to read."

Sans relaxed and my chest tightened at the implications that subtle movement meant.

Reading had been my only escape from real life as a kid. It was ... sacred. Something I would _never_ take from someone else. The very idea was terrifying.

Then again, I shouldn't be surprised that my fellow humans didn't think the same.

I pushed the thought from my mind, turning my attention to the task of copying addresses from my phone to the list. I had managed to memorize nearly all of them with daily repetition.

Except for Solar's, which kept giving me trouble. For some reason I wanted to write it as 2460 instead of 2604.

Annoyingly I did it again, even as I was thinking about it.

I spent my remaining time in a sort of waiting time fugue state. Chipping away at my "to do" list and constantly checking my phone.

I showered, since I hadn't this morning, which led me to realize I was nearly out of long sleeved shirts. So I sorted laundry and started a load. Then I saw the dishes were piling up in the kitchen, so I washed some of those.

As it got closer and closer to the time I needed to leave an anxious knot began to grow in my stomach.

I didn't want to deal with Jason, but it was almost guaranteed that he'd be on the same shift as me. The best I could hope for was that he'd leave me alone.

 _I_ wasn't going to start anything with him.

I couldn't sit still, fidgeting and pacing the apartment, looking for _something_ to do.

Eventually I sighed, giving up on waiting and leaving early.

I hoped tonight would be better.

. . . . .

I checked the buttons on my polo again before I entered the warehouse.

I _knew_ my manager's response the night before had been sexist at best, but I wanted to be covered.

Just in case.

I resisted the urge to button the top of my work polo. The only thing _that_ would accomplish would be strangling me.

I knew I should escalate the situation to HR, but I didn't know how to contact them. I _highly_ doubted they would do anything, anyway. "Human Resources" protected the company first, then the workers. _Then_ contract workers like me.

I knew where I stood. I was a temp. Easy to fire.

Easy to replace.

Better to let the issue die as it was.

I clocked in, grabbed a scanner, and set off in search of the first item.

Thoughtless monotony, _exactly_ what I wanted.

It was a surprise when I was paged only an hour into my shift. My internal debate between finding the next item first or not was decided for me when my scanner locked me out.

Which ... was not a _good_ sign.

Fortunately my manager wasn't the woman from last night, but instead was Tony. A good guy who was too old for most of this shit, but needed to do something to pay rent. He waved me into his office, gesturing for me to close the door behind me.

"Please, sit," he said, his voice low and tired.

I did as told, sitting on the edge of the seat.

Important Conversation Time With Boss was rarely a good thing.

Tony slumped in his chair on the other side of the cheap desk, heaving a heavy sigh.

I realized what was happening.

It wasn't the first time I'd been fired, after all.

"Whose kid is he?" I asked before Tony could say a word.

He grimaced, looking away from me.

Unwilling to meet my eyes.

"I fought for you," Tony said heavily, leaving my question unanswered. "Spent most of the damn day trying to get the higher ups to listen to reason. You're one of our best workers."

I had nothing to say to that, so I simply nodded an acknowledgement of the hollow praise.

"Jason is the son of the district manager," he said, glaring at his hands.

I winced, inwardly cursing myself even though I didn't think I'd actually done anything wrong.

"He went crying to mommy and ... I don't know what he told her, but it _wasn't good_."

Honestly, I assumed he told her the truth. If he left out his aggressive actions, the confrontation could be summed up fairly neatly: "I asked her out to dinner and she pulled a _knife_ on me like a psycho."

I didn't say anything to defend myself.

"Why didn't you report the incident last night when it happened?" Tony asked, his voice strained with emotion.

I tensed at the question, frowning. "I did. _Immediately_. Told ... what's-her-name and everything." I desperately grasped for the woman's name. Melissa? Megan? Mothra? (She did sort of act like a rampaging behemoth sometimes ... ) I swallowed back the sour taste at the back of my throat. " _She_ told me that I shouldn't have been dressed so 'provocatively'." I finger quoted the word with disgust. "I didn't know she hadn't _bothered_ to record my complaint."

Tony's expression filtered through the stages of grief all at once and out of order. Eventually he landed somewhere on angry acceptance.

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Fucking _again_ , Melinda?" before turning his attention back to me.

"I can't save your job, but could you tell me what Jason did to provoke you? Did you _really_ pull a _weapon_ on him?"

"Yep," I said, words clipped as I thought about the incident. "He threatened me. Had me pinned against a wall and wasn't letting me go when I asked him to. It wasn't a misunderstanding, either," I added as Tony raised an eyebrow. "I _specifically_ told him to let me go. Used the exact words and everything."

"And you were unable to get help from the floor managers?"

"Didn't have a walkie or a way to signal for help," I said. I sighed, looking at my hands. "I shouldn't have pulled my box cutter on him, but I felt trapped. I didn't have many other options outside of letting him assault me."

Tony sighed again but made note of what I said. I hoped he would add it to some sort of file on Jason.

Maybe it would help the next girl he set his sight on.

"If you were my daughter I'd tell you t'hell with it. You made the right choice," Tony said softly, and I jerked in surprise.

Of all the things I'd expected in this meeting, understanding hadn't been one.

I didn't know what to say.

"Doesn't mean I can get your job back," he said, defensive and clearly unhappy about it. "And being right doesn't pay anything. But _I_ don't fault you for what happened, and if it were up to me it'd be Jason sitting across from me, not you."

"Thank you," I said softly, truly at a loss for words. It was ... honestly one of the nicest things a manager had ever said to me.

Usually they were yelling at me for screwing up.

I knew, intellectually, I hadn't done anything wrong. This termination was bullshit and probably illegal. I had a perfect record - Never late, never missed a shift without a call at least two hours before. I had one of the best pull rates on the night shift, and I didn't spend my breaks getting high.

Aside from one day off a week I only took a _single_ day off a year, on Halloween. It wasn't even a major holiday.

Part of me was furious. I was being fired for defending myself against an asshole who shoved me against a wall to try to coerce me - _force me_ \- into dating him.

I was being punished when _I_ was in the right, and it made no fucking sense.

But I didn't "play well" with others.

It had only been a matter of time before I screwed up somehow.

"I'm sure you've got everything you need, but ... if you need a reference, I'd gladly give you a good one." Tony slid a business card over to me across the cheap laminate of the desk. He'd crossed out the work number and scrawled a new one above it.

I took the card, contemplating the significance that had.

"Thank you."

I slipped it into my pocket.

It was ... nice having someone on my side.

Even if he couldn't do much to help me.

Bittersweet.

I sighed, overwhelmed with sudden bone-deep exhaustion. I didn't have the energy to fight this battle. Metaphorical or otherwise.

I stood up and took off my badge, placing it on the desk between us. "I can stop by sometime tomorrow to return my spare polo and get my last check. Is there a good time to do that?"

"Any time after noon should be fine," Tony said after a moment's thought. He held up a hand as I started untucking my polo. "You can drop that one off then, too. It isn't too urgent."

I awkwardly crossed my arms, uncertain what to do with my hands. The shirt I had on under the polo was thin, so I was grateful to leave the thicker shirt on anyway.

"I'll come by around noon, then. Thanks."

I turned and left the small office, leaving the door open some.

I left the building without a word.

. . . . .

Throughout my commute home I expected anger to flare in my chest. I offered it kindling and fuel, thinking about the injustice of it all, the stupid office politics.

Of why this had to happen _today_ , when I'd already missed my _two other jobs_. A day's worth of wages, gone.

But it didn't.

I stared blindly at the ads, swaying with the movement of the bus, thinking of other night jobs I could do.

I had a cushion of savings. Not three months worth, but enough. I wasn't too concerned about the loss of income.

In all likelihood I'd have a replacement soon.

I was _furious_ over the firing. Spiteful passion in my soul sparked and raged.

But I couldn't _feel_ it.

It flickered, light without heat.

I was exhausted.

Disappointed.

Frustrated.

But all I felt was _numb_.

What was one more former job on a ten page resume?

If anything, it was a surprise I'd held onto the job as long as I had.

 _Acceptance_.

Grudging, resentful, and angry, but acceptance nonetheless.

I stood in front of my door, fist up and ready to knock when I remembered there was no need.

I had given Sans a key. He didn't have my keys anymore, because he had his own.

I dug my keys out of my bag and unlocked my apartment, glancing around the entryway.

The light of the setting sun cast long shadows in the living room. The only lights were from the hallway.

It was quiet.

It was ... empty.

I ignored the painful twinge in my chest. Ignored the pang of loneliness and isolation. It was stupid to get emotional about. Until a couple of weeks ago, this is what I came home to.

This was _more_ than I came home to. I never left the lights on for myself.

It wasn't worth getting upset over.

Slowly, deliberately, I untied my shoes, kicking them off as I headed into the kitchen for some food.

It wasn't like Sans was avoiding me on purpose. He had no idea I'd be home early. _I_ hadn't known I'd be home early. In the less-than-a-month he'd known me I had never come home early.

It wasn't a thing that happened.

He had no idea that I was usually holding on by my fingertips, one step away from unemployment at any given moment.

I made myself dinner, heating up what looked like the last of Abby's leftovers. I would need to wash the containers to return.

I made a note that I would have to make more food tomorrow. Lasagna, probably. After Abby's cooking I hoped Sans would be able to stomach mine.

I frowned at the thought of the skeleton monster.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts with a huff.

I wouldn't be good company right now anyway. What would I say?

"Hey, I got fired for bullshit, but it's not that much of a surprise because this always happens and I ... kinda fail like this constantly! Sorry you're stuck with such a useless sack of shit!"

I sighed again, taking my dinner over to the couch and deciding I was done thinking for the night.

I shifted into autopilot as I ate, letting my mind go blank. Relying on muscle memory and habit to eat and clean up. I stumbled to my bedroom, calling out my routine salutation to Sans halfway down the hallway.

I pulled off my work polo, then flopped into bed. It was too much work to change out of the rest of my clothes.

It was still early, the sky still light although the sun had set. I could get something done.

I could read more about the laws regarding Monster Ownership, figure out ways to subvert them.

I had slept in.

I had only worked an hour of _one job._

I closed my eyes, telling myself it would just be for a moment.

I don't remember dreaming.

. . . . .

I was surprised to see Sans on the couch when I stumbled from the shower. I gave him a bleary wave as I started a pot of coffee for myself.

I was glad I'd gotten extra sleep last night, even if the circumstances sucked,

Today was going to be a _long_ day.

"Why're you up?" I slurred at the skeleton as I popped two slices of bread into the toaster.

Sans looked at me, brow raised.

Hadn't I ... ?

I hadn't been explicit enough.

Dammit.

"You're on the lease now," I said. "You don't need to come with me to work. Congratulations, it's your day off. For as long as you want."

His face flashed through expressions so quickly I couldn't read most of them.

What I did see were confusion, suspicion, anger, fear ... hope?

I looked away when the toaster popped, feeling like I'd been staring.

In my defense: His face was _fascinating_ to watch.

"I told you I was dragging you around because you weren't on the lease. Now you are," I said with a shrug as I buttered my breakfast. "There's no barrier to you staying here all day. It's your home as much as mine."

I took a bite of the toast, pointedly ignoring the crumb pile on the counter. That was Future Terra's problem. She could clean it.

"We've already discussed blood rituals, cults, pets ... I'm pretty sure we're good as far as I'm concerned."

I tried not to be put off by how Sans was staring at me, watching me like I was playing a prank on him. I turned away, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

"I want you to be as free as possible. I don't want to be a jailer or warden. I want you to do whatever _you_ want to do."

I sat on the floor by the coffee table, across from where Sans was reclining. He was still staring at me, sockets wide with disbelief. I took a sip of my coffee, grimacing at the taste. I'd never grown to like my coffee black, but I needed all the caffeine I could get.

"If you get bored staying home all the time ... " I stalled, biting my lip as I considered how to say what I wanted to. It felt like a topic that should be addressed with care.

I wasn't very good at that.

"If you want to look into getting a job or finding something to do out of the house? I'll help you figure that out." I kept my eyes on my coffee mug, hoping he didn't misunderstand. Hoping it didn't sound like I was telling him to get a job.

I worked at _least_ three jobs. They let me survive and maintain a small cushion.

I _chose_ that for myself. I had made the _choices_ that had led me here. I had _chosen_ to bring Sans into my meager existence, coincidence or not.

I wasn't going to force him to work.

I _refused_ to use him for my gain.

"I won't force you. You don't have to," I emphasized as I looked up at him. "But if you want to ... just let me know."

Sans stared at me until I broke the gaze, self conscious and uncomfortable.

I flinched when he got up off the couch, repressing the urge to apologize.

"Thanks," he said as he walked by me. "I'll keep that in mind."

And then he was down the hall.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding when I heard his door latch click.

I was halfway out the door when I realized I hadn't told Sans about the change of plans for tonight.

I glanced at my phone before rushing back into the apartment to write a quick note.

_Won't be back until late._

_I'll try not to wake you._

_No promises._

_\- T_

I left it with the hall pass on the counter. Hopefully Sans would see them both.

A quick double, triple check - phone, wallet, keys, shirts - and I ran out of the apartment.

I wanted to be early for my factory job to smooth things over with my foreman.

. . . . .

My foreman wasn't happy with my absence the day before. He gave me a lecture about reliability and spent my entire shift glaring at me.

I did my best to ignore him and not let it get to me.

When I clocked out he grudgingly spat, "Good work today. Keep it up."

I stretched as I left the building, deciding what to do next. My options were blowing off the warehouse for another day or dealing with it now. The site was out of my way and would be a hassle to get to.

But I didn't want to carry the polos in my bag longer than necessary.

And I wanted my money.

The manager on duty was ready for me, and gave me my last paycheck without issue. Then he had security escort me out.

Guess Jason's story had spread around, and I was considered a threat.

I am terrifying. All five feet and a hundred pounds of me.

I put the check in my wallet and headed to Solar's where I ate in a rush. I was already running a little behind. I left with an apology to Grillby and a decent (although not _great_ tip).

Then I sprinted to The Amber Lounge, getting there five minutes late.

The guy behind the bar laughed at my apology, promising me he wouldn't tell. I appreciated it.

I worked at the bar occasionally when they had live shows.

The tips were excellent. People were happy, and happy people tipped well. It made for a nice atmosphere. Unfortunately I tended to either not care for or outright hate the music.

More than that I _abhorred_ trying to shout over the music. It was nearly impossible, and my voice would be shot for days.

And I'd be deaf.

But ... the tips would _more_ than make up for missing ... _all_ my jobs yesterday.

My actual job was manning the coat check, but that came with a fair amount of downtime until after the show. So I offered to help the bar, passing along cocktail orders and opening bottles. Dispensing beer and water. Simple tasks that didn't take a lot of knowledge.

I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the music was good. Enough that I noted the band's name into my phone to look up later. I bounced along to the music as I worked, enjoying myself more than I thought I could.

Last call came an hour before the concert was over, and I helped clean up. Taking it upon myself to deal with the mundane, nonspecialized tasks so the bar staff wouldn't have to. Sweeping, mopping, wiping down countertops, whatever I could find to help out.

I was handling the last coat check customer when one of the bartenders came over.

"Thanks for all your help," she said as the guy walked away with his leather biker jacket. "Pretty sure helping clean up isn't part of your contract. At least, it usually isn't ... Unless the boss has been contracting assholes."

I shrugged as I cleaned up what little remained in the coat check area.

"Both, probably," I said.

She was right that it wasn't part of my job to help serve customers or to close out the bar. My only job was to handle the coat check.

But I wanted to help. I didn't like sitting back and doing nothing while other people worked. It didn't sit right with me.

And I hoped I might get a little more money for helping out, too. Although that wasn't _why_ I did.

It was the bartender who greeted me that suggested we pool our tips, and I readily agreed. I ended up taking home a little more than I would have otherwise.

I stayed with the bar staff until they locked up, planning my route home. It was late, after three in the morning. I was uneasy about walking home with my tips in my bag and in single-digit weather.

I shivered at the prospect.

The woman who had thanked me for helping offered me a ride home.

I didn't want to accept.

I didn't like _owing_ people things. Especially when I wasn't sure if I would see them again or not. I was wary of her holding something over me.

A small thing, sure, but it still had weight.

But I wasn't stupid enough to walk home at three in the goddamn morning with nearly half a grand in my back pocket.

She dropped me off with a concerned expression, and I _knew_ she was evaluating my walk home. Likely realizing how many sketchy blocks I would have traveled down.

Including the somewhat-sketchy block I _lived on_.

I got out of the car before she could throw sympathy at me, thanking her for the ride and jogging into the building.

As soon as I was inside I heard the car accelerate away.

I trudged up the stairs, each step draining away what little energy I still had.

Like the coffee had evaporated straight out of my system.

I don't remember getting to my floor. Or unlocking my door or getting into bed.

. . . . .

When I woke up it was late for me, but still early by normal-human time.

Especially considering it was Sunday.

I was trying to find a replacement night job. Everywhere I'd called only had openings for a regular graveyard shift. Few wanted to take on a contract worker, either.

I lay back on my bed after another failed phone call, pondering the possibility of being in two places at once.

Sans _was_ magic. Maybe he could duplicate me or something.

Drag an Alternate Universe version of me here. One that has her shit together and works a normal, 9-5, Monday to Friday job. Like a functional human.

... Hah. As if that could happen.

A knock at my bedroom door startled me awake, and I blinked blearily at it.

"One sec," I said, loud enough that Sans could hear me, and I stumbled out of bed. My body was still hazy from sleep and I lurched across the room like I'd forgotten how to walk.

It was a passable imitation of a zombie.

I opened the door, expecting to see Sans.

Definitely _not_ expecting Xander and James.

James quickly appraised me, looking me up and down.

"You look like shit," he said after taking in my sleepless glory.

"James," Xander warned in a stern tone.

The effect of which was ruined by me mumbling " _You're_ shit" and mussing the kid's hair in an awkward pat.

I turned to Xander, had still on Jamie's head. I stared at my brother-in-law, sleepily trying to figure out what the pair were doing in my doorway.

They were here to ... help me with something?

Because I needed something moved in their ...

"Truck. Thrift store. _Fuck_." I glanced down at myself, still in my clothes from last night and not at _all_ ready to move furniture. I probably smelled like the bar. "I completely forgot. Gimme ... ten? Ten, and I'll be ready to go."

James shrugged, pulling his phone from his pocket and going to the living room. Xander looked at me with concern.

"You okay to go out, Tess? James wasn't lying when he said you don't look great."

"I'm fine," I said, dismissing his concern with a wave of my hand. "Just tired. Had a late night."

Xander's eyes widened in alarm as he glanced at the living room then back at me. He furrowed his brow, getting ready to lecture.

I rolled my eyes.

"I had a shift at Amber Lounge," I said. "Concert. I was working coat check."

He didn't quite relax, but the tension shifted. Concern about my night job shifting to concern about my health.

"You sure you're okay? James and I can deal with it on our own."

"I'm fine," I repeated with a shake of my head. "I have a couple things that I need to take care of and then we can go."

Xander nodded, taking a step back into the hallway.

"Take your time," he said as he turned toward the living room. "We're not in a rush."

I nodded and closed my door behind him, sighing as I reprioritized my to-do list for the day.

It took almost another hour to find a job to fill my empty slot. It had been a long time since my last job shuffle. A lot of my connections weren't available anymore.

Some places don't care when their janitorial staff come in. Ss long as the place is clean the next morning, they're happy.

Lucky for me.

Xander and James were watching something when I finally made my way out into the kitchen. Or, Xander was watching something. James was on his phone, only kind of paying attention to the TV.

I pulled out the notepad and started writing down addresses, careful to double check them against my phone.

"Whatcha doing?" James asked.

He was behind me, looking at the paper over my shoulder. I jerked away from him, surprised, and he took a step back. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I said as I grit my teeth and told myself to _breathe_. "It's for Sans. It lets him go where he wants without me being around."

"Is he gonna help us with the dresser?"

"We can ask, but I don't know." I said with a shrug. "I bought it on impulse, so it's my thing to deal with. Besides, there's not enough room in the truck for all four of us."

"He could help us get it up the stairs."

It was _almost_ like my nephew wanted to do as little work as possible.

I sighed, but agreed that things might go smoother if Sans helped.

"I'll ask. But I'm not going to force him."

Sans answered my knock quickly, which I hoped meant I hadn't woken him.

"Xander and James - if you remember them - are here to help me bring that ugly dresser home. Would you help us get it up the stairs?"

"Sure."

I pulled out my phone to hand him along with the hall pass.

"I'll call from Xander's phone once we're back. Shouldn't take longer than an hour."

Sans nodded, opening the door fully to take the phone.

"Sounds good," he said.

"Great!" I said with a smile. "It'll be a lot easier with your help."

I turned and marched into the living room, arms in the air. "Let's go! Wardrobe, Get!"

. . . . .

It was a nice day.

Jamie teased me mercilessly about the dresser, calling it a Pretty Princess Nightmare. He _also_ offered to help me paint it, if only to protect the world from its gaudy horror.

Sans helped us get it up the three flights of stairs.

He was surprisingly strong for someone who had no muscle. With his help the dresser felt like it was _half_ its weight.

We put the dresser on the balcony so I could paint it.

Which is when I realized I had forgotten to buy paint at the hardware store.

"Hey, Sans, next time we're out we should stop at the store, get some paint," I told the skeleton monster. "You can pick it out and everything."

I wondered if I should add the store to his list, give him a chance to go look at paint swatches or something.

I would ask him later, once my family was gone.

It was nice having them here.

Xander and Jamie stayed for dinner. Xander ordered pizza, and we all ate until we were stuffed.

Xander implied that James had a girlfriend, but my nephew wouldn't divulge anything about her.

"We're just friends," he said. "It's not like that."

I shrugged, "Well, if you do find someone, let me know. I'd love to meet them."

They left after eating, leaving the remaining pizza with me. Which I was grateful for.

I went to bed early, calling out a goodnight to Sans. He had disappeared sometime during dinner. I was worried he felt uncomfortable around my family.

I hoped he wasn't.

I changed into my pajamas, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

I was exhausted.

I couldn't fall asleep.

I felt ... Empty.

_Numb._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Halloween! If you've read the chapter in Skin and Bone, it's nearly identical.
> 
> \---
> 
> Happy solstice! I hope all of you are staying safe and snug on this long winter night.


	19. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: None. This chapter is sugar sweet fluff. It will give you diabetes.
> 
> \---
> 
> This is more-or-less the same as the chapter I posted a month ago on [Skin and Bone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27409066/chapters/66992239). There've been a few changes, mostly cosmetic to make it flow a little better, but also some minor tweaks to keep everything in line.

My days were a monotonous routine.

Wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep.

Repeat.

But as the end of the month neared, my soul lightened. By the time I left my housekeeping job on the thirty-first I felt like I was walking on air.

Halloween revelers were already on the streets as I slid my phone into my pocket and began my walk home. It was still early, and most seemed to be meeting up to go elsewhere in the city.

I passed girls with animal ears and guys with fake blood. Nothing particularly complex or impressive. Most seemed to be broke college kids putting in minimal effort. Just enough that they'd get cheap drinks at the bars and clubs around town.

Not that I blamed them. I'd do the same, if Apollo ever held similar promotions.

I glared at the still out-of-order elevator and headed up the stairs, prioritizing my mental to-do list.

I didn't need to worry about trick-or-treaters at my apartment. While there were a couple kids int eh building they usually went to the suburbs. They got a better candy haul there than in the city,

"Hey Sans, I'm home!" I called out as I kicked off my shoes and put my bag down. I connected my phone to the speaker in my kitchen, turning on my Halloween mix to get into a spooky mood.

My Halloween tradition was simple: Spend the night watching family-oriented "spooky" movies with Abby's kids. We'd done it for years.

It was one of my absolute favorite traditions. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

I hummed along to _This Is Halloween_ as I pulled out the sofa bed and gathered all the blankets and pillows I owned.

"You're home early," Sans said behind me as I surveyed the couch, trying to visualize a fort.

"Need to get you a friggin' bell," I muttered without any heat. I'd mostly become accustomed tot he skeleton popping into existence whenever he wanted.

"I never work Halloween night," I explained as I took down a photo to hang up a spare sheet. My goal was something like a tent, but it wasn't working out quite as well as I had hoped. "It's one of the few nights I make sure to take off every year. People get ... weird on Halloween. Being out late is a bad idea."

Fortunately my newest boss had easily granted the request.

It hadn't hurt that I was willing to work Christmas Eve _and_ Christmas Day. New Year's Eve, too, if he needed me.

The sheet wouldn't stay up, slipping off the hook whenever I put any tension on it. I growled at it in frustration, as though that would make it stay put.

The song switched to an electro-swing cover of _Spooky Scary Skeletons_ , and I froze.

I didn't know how monsters felt about Halloween.

More importantly, I didn't know how _Sans_ felt about Halloween.

Or how the _very real skeleton_ felt about songs referencing his ... species? Race? ... as being "spooky scary."

_Spooky scary skeletons_

_Send shivers down your spine_

I glanced at Sans, uncertain what to expect.

He was staring at the speaker with a blank, dark eyed stare. Completely unreadable.

I dropped the sheet and fumbled my phone out of my pocket, attempting to stop the music.

"By the way," I said in a transparent attempt to distract the skeleton from the ... offensive? ... song. "I forgot to warn you. My niece - and maybe Jamie, but probably not - is gonna be spending the night."

I finally paused the music, cutting off the song mid-verse. I looked at Sans with an apologetic frown, feeling guilty for springing this on him at the last minute. "I _completely_ forgot about it. To talk to you about it, I mean. I didn't think about it. This is just ... what I _do_ every year."

Sans shrugged, turning back to my mostly-unassembled couch fort. "That's what this is for?"

"Yeah," I said with a nod as I turned back to the mess of blankets. "I never remember how to put together a good fort. It usually ends up more of a pillow nest than anything else."

I picked up the sheet again, reaching to try hanging it again, when a knock sounded at the door.

I glanced at my phone, "That's probably my sister."

Sans had vanished again by the time I opened the door and was nearly bowled over by forty pounds of tiny human.

"TRICK OR TREAT AUNT T!"

I recovered my balance quickly, sweeping my niece into a spinning hug.

"Trick or treat?" I asked, my tone playful. Already I felt lighter than I had in weeks. "Hmm ... I choose ... TRICK! OMNOMNOMNOM!"

I buried my face against the little girl's stomach, playfully chomping at her and holding her tight.

"No! I'm not candy!" she squealed, squirming and wriggling in an attempt to get out of my arms. "Mama! Help!"

I glanced over at Abby, still in the doorway and watching us with a find smile.

"Help?" she asked, and I grinned widely when I saw the mischievous glint in her eyes. "I suppose I _could_."

She took Chloe from my arms and held her gently before doing the exact same thing I had. The little girl erupted into screams and giggles again, gasping out a happy, "I'm not candy!"

I turned to Xander and James, talking in hushed stones in the doorway.

"Didn't know you two were vampires. Since when do you need an invite to come in?" I asked.

James was first, arms wide in an offer of a hug. I accepted, returning the affection eagerly. Xander followed, holding a small pink backpack I assumed was for Chloe.

"Overnight bag?" I asked as I pulled away from James. Without waiting for an answer I motioned at the couch. "It can go over there."

I held my hands behind my back to keep myself from ruffling my nephew's carefully-styled hair. "You staying the night?"

"Nah," James said, "Friend is having a party. Gonna crash there."

"Sounds fun," I said, before giving him a stern look. "Make good choices."

"I already got that talk from mom _and_ dad," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"And now you've heard it from your aunt as well," I chuckled as I gave him a quick squeeze. "You've got a lot of people who care about you."

I turned back to my sister and niece, finally taking in their costumes.

"Pirates?" I asked, surprised. Last month Chloe had been super excited to tell me she was going to be a fairy princess.

"Preschool politics," Abby explained with a sigh. "Another girl in Clo's class claimed princess rights."

"Cassie," Chloe spat, voice as spiteful as a four year old cold be. "She said _she_ was gonna be a princess and none of the other girls could. Miss Tiana said she couldn't do that, but she said her _mommy_ said she could. Everybody else agreed, so I had to, too."

I nodded along, completely lost. I vaguely knew Miss Tiana was Chloe's teacher, but I knew nothing about her classmates. I had no idea how this Cassie girl was able to control the entire preschool class.

"So you decided to be a pirate?" I asked my niece.

"I'm a _fairy pirate_ ** _queen_**!" Chloe pronounced in an excited shout as she turned around to show me her back.

Sure enough she was wearing sparkly red wings with her pirate getup.

My heart melted.

She was adorable.

"You're a queen!" I cried out, covering my mouth in mock horror. "Forgive my insolence, your majesty, I had not realized!"

I bowed deeply toward her, and she burst into giggles again.

"We should get going," Abby said with a glance at her watch. "Didn't you have something you wanted to ask your aunt, Clo?"

At the reminder Chloe turned to me, her eyes widening and her lips pouting.

She was _far_ too good at that face,

"Aunt T! Come trick or treat with us! Please, please, _pleeeeeeeeease_!"

Even with Abby's earlier warning, I had assumed my niece only wanted me along as an afterthought. Touched, I knelt down next to her, looking her in the eye.

"I don't have a costume," I said, waving at my clothes. "I won't match."

"Momma brought you a costume!" Chloe said brightly.

I whipped my attention to my sister, who raised her hands.

"No pressure," she said. "Chloe has been _insisting_ you come with us. It was _her_ idea to find you a costume."

I blinked in surprise, shocked the little girl had considered I would want a costume if I was going out.

Of course, Abby might have mentioned something, to prod her daughter along. She had a hard time disappointing the little girl,.

Not that I blamed her. I would give Chloe on the silver platter if I could.

I glanced at the sad blanket fort with a frown.

"Well ... " I said as I turned back to Chloe. She was staring at me with wide, pleading eyes that made my heart ache.

 _That's cheating_.

"If I go with you, we won't have a blanket fort," I said carefully. "I won't have time to set it up. If you _really_ want me to come with you, I will. It's up to you. Do I go trick or treating with you, or do we have a cuddle fort to sleep in?"

Chloe bit her lip as she thought through the options. It was a big decision.

Abby waved at Xander, who pulled a plastic shopping bag from his laptop case. My costume, presumably.

"Trick or treat!" Chloe shouted after a moment of indecision. "Come trick or treat with us!"

"Alright," I agreed with a nod.

Xander helped me to my feet and handed me the costume. I glanced inside the bag and felt a flood of relief. It would cover my arms and legs. I shot Abby a grateful smile as I looked back down to Chloe.

"I'll go get dressed and let my friend know I'm leaving for a while. Then we can go, okay?"

She threw herself at me again with a scream of excitement.

I gave her a tight squeeze back.

"You're coming with us?" James asked from the kitchen, where he'd been raiding my fridge.

"Of course," I snorted. "I can't say no to the pirate queen. Find anything good to eat?"

He had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

I laughed and headed to my room to change.

"Give me ten and I'll be ready to go."

. . . . .

The costume was easy to put on, and it fit me surprisingly well. It was still an off-the-rack outfit, though, and the material was thin. I ended up putting on an undershirt so I wouldn't freeze.

It only looked a _little_ weird.

"Hey Sans, can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked after knocking on his door.

A brief pause and he opened the door, glancing down at my costume for half a second before meeting my eye.

"I'm going with Abby to trick or treat," I said with an acknowledging wave at my costume. "Wanted to let you know and give you my cell in case you needed me."

I held the device out to him but he didn't take it, his eyelights darting toward the living room. I could hear Abby talking in hushed tones, probably reminding Chloe of the rules for the night.

"If you need me you can call or text Abby," I said, pushing the phone toward him.

He shrugged, taking the phone from my hand and disappearing it into his hoodie pocket.

"I'll be back in a couple hours," I said. "Chloe is staying the night. We'll be sleeping in the living room."

I took a step back, intending to end the conversation there.

Sans stopped me.

"Can I use magic to ... do somethin'?"

I blinked, trying to remember if I had ever said he _couldn't_ use magic. I thought I had been careful to not give him _any_ commands.

Then I realized it was likely a "preset" command. One given to all monsters once they'd been collared.

Now that I thought about it, I vaguely remembered something like that coming up during the debates about Monster Rights.

Magic was disallowed unless specific permission was obtained.

The thought was heavy and sour at the back of my throat.

Everything I had read said magic was an important part of a monster's identity. As unique and integral to their sense of self as style or fashion was to humans.

Forbidding it felt like forbidding ... _music_. _Art_.

"Of course," I said with a nod. "You know the rules: nothing permanent, nothing that causes damage."

Sans rolled his eyelights at me, but his smile softened.

"Thanks."

. . . . .

We went trick or treating in my mother's neighborhood.

I knew Abby had chosen the particular suburb, at least partly, to rub her family in our mother's face.

Mom had never accepted Chloe as her granddaughter. So whenever she had a chance Abby threw that in our mother's face.

"Look at this adorable, perfect little girl you could have spoiled if you weren't such a horrid bitch. But because you _are_ a horrible human being, you only get to see her under my terms."

It always worked.

I grinned as I walked Chloe up to the door, excited to see my mother's face when she realized who was knocking.

Unfortunately, my mother didn't answer her own door anymore.

Instead the rabbit woman was handing out candy this year.

With how quickly she opened the door, I suspected it was her only task for tonight,

"Trick or treat!" Chloe shouted in sing-song. She held out her treat bucket with a bright smile.

"Happy Halloween!" the rabbit woman said in response. Her voice was gentle and warm, but I could hear the sadness in it.

Sadness and exhaustion.

She knelt to let Chloe choose her own candy.

"Thank you!" Chloe said as she carefully chose one of the fun-sized candies (of course my mother would go cheap) and took a step back. She frowned, looking between the doorway, me, and the monstress.

"Umm," she said, suddenly shy and uncertain, "This is my grammas house! Is she here? I wanna show her my costume!"

She said the last bit with a spin, the better to show how adorable she was.

The monster woman startled, looking down at Chloe before glancing at me. Recognition brightened her features as she remembered who I was.

She didn't speak, which made me frown. Knowing my mother she likely wasn't allowed to speak most of the time.

I glared into the dark house. If it was silence my mother wanted ...

"You mind if I call for her?" I asked, signing as I spoke. The movements were awkward with the candy bucket on my arm, but I managed. "If you want to, you can use Hands. I understand it well enough."

She looked at the bowl of candy in her hands before giving me an apologetic shrug. She stepped back, allowing me to cross the threshold of the house.

"Hey mom!" I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth, "Your _daughters_ are here to say Happy Halloween!"

I took a step back. Either she'd answer or not and I didn't care much either way.

"Is everything okay?" Abby asked as she came up to the porch. "You've been up here a while."

I nodded and knelt down next to Chloe.

"Clo wanted to see her grandma," I explained. I wrapped my niece in a tight hug. "And _I_ wanted to show off the _cutest_ pirate queen in the whole wide world."

Chloe giggled and Abby nodded. Something passed over her features as she looked at the monster woman, there and gone in an instant. She held her hand out to the woman.

"I don't believe we've met. I'm Abby, her older daughter, although she probably doesn't call me that." She paused for a moment, and I could see her considering her next words. "Is my mother treating you alright?"

The woman looked between my sister's hand and the candy bowl. I took the dish so she could take Abby's hand.

Inside the house I heard someone shuffling around.

I guess my mother _was_ going to acknowledge our existences tonight.

Wonderful.

The rabbit monster gave Abby a careful, curt nod in response before quickly pulling the candy bowl back. She looked behind her uneasily.

"If you don't mind me asking," Abby said, her voice soft, "are you from Snowdin?"

The monstress jumped, head whipping around to meet Abby's gaze. After a moment she nodded, blinking back tears that had suddenly appeared in her dark eyes.

Then my mother appeared, cutting off the nascent conversation.

I had to bite back my laughter at her appearance.

Over whatever nightwear she had on she was wearing a long flowing robe. Faux fur lined the edges.

She looked like the villain from a crime drama. The 'grieving widow' whose rich husband had suddenly died under 'mysterious, tragic circumstances.'

She looked ridiculous.

"Theresa!" she gasped as she saw me. "What are you doing here?"

"What else?" I asked, voice flat. I lifted my treat bucket to her before motioning to Chloe and Abby beside me. "Trick or Treat."

My mother spared Abby a single glance before giving her a dismissive "tsk."

Then she saw Chloe,

"And what are _you_ supposed to be," she demanded.

She seemed unimpressed, possibly disgusted, by my niece's costume. Which meant she was either blind or acting.

Although if I remembered my own childhood, my mother had never been a fan of "non-feminine" Halloween costumes on girls. I was some flavor of princess every year.

"I'm the fairy pirate queen," Chloe announced, puffing out her chest. She wasn't put off at all by my mother's tone. "Momma and Aunt T and Daddy and Jamie are my pirate crew!

The line of my mother's mouth flatted further at the mention of the rest of Abby's family.

"I thought you might want to see your _granddaughter_ in her _Halloween_ costume," Abby said, her voice holding a veiled threat.

 _Be nice_.

"It's a very nice costume," my mother spat, words not matching her tone. "Although I suppose it _would_ be, with a ... _parent_ like you."

"Thank you," Abby said, ignoring the insult. She glanced at her watch. "We need to keep going. It was ... I hope you're doing well, mother."

She took Chloe's hand, gently leading the little girl away from the porch and leaving me behind.

"Wait! I need a picture!" My mother called out, frantic, as she disappeared into her house.

I snorted before turning to the rabbit woman with a smile. "Thank you. Happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween," she responded with a genuine grin that allowed her buck teeth to peek into existence. She glanced behind her before setting down eh bowl of candy.

 _"Thank you_." she signed.

"Of course. You still have my number?"

She nodded as she picked the candy bowl back up.

"Good. Call if you need anything. Or text, if you can get access to a cellphone."

I stepped off the porch to catch up with Abby and Xander, not sparing another glance at the house even as my mother screamed at us to come back.

It probably would have worked better if she used Abby's name.

. . . . .

Chloe lasted a _lot_ longer than I thought she would.

Somehow she had more stamina in her four year old body than the adults with her.

Except for me. I could have gone all night if the kid wanted to.

But I knew I was an outlier.

As it was, by the time Abby called it quits Chloe was spent. She was getting piggyback rides between houses.

I was pretty sure she nodded off during them.

Abby had let us go as long as she could, but she and Xander had plans. They needed to get _me_ home so they could go enjoy their anniversary.

The ride from the suburbs to my apartment was quiet. Abby and Xander were talking softly to one another, too quiet to make out. James had put his earbuds in before he'd even got into the van, and was busy on his phone.

Chloe had passed out as soon as she was buckled into her booster seat.

After texting Sans to let him know we were on our way back I leaned against the window. I watched as the lawns and picket fences faded into the concrete, steel, and glass of the city.

It was the first time I let myself slow down and _think_ in ... weeks.

It was nice.

Xander parked in the yellow "no parking" zone in front of my building and Chloe blinked herself awake. I unbuckled and hopped out of the van, turning to meet Abby's hug.

"Thank you for coming with us," she whispered into my ear. "You didn't have to."

"I had fun," I said as we parted. I was about to thank her for the costume when James punched my arm.

I yelped, more out of surprise than pain. I frowned at him as I punched where he'd hit.

It hadn't been hard, there wasn't even a mark, but it had come as a surprise.

"Sorry," he said with an apologetic wince. "I didn't mean to hit you that hard. Was just trying to get your attention."

"Use your _words_ ," I said with a laugh, too confused to be angry. "What do you need so badly you'd _punch_ me?

"Sorry," he repeated, turning red with embarrassment.

I sighed, and as I thought about it I realized it wasn't too weird. Kid had earbuds in most of the time, and his friends probably did too. It'd be difficult to get their attention verbally.

A gentle pat or poke would have sufficed, but he _was_ a teenage boy. Punches were more aggressive.

More " _manly_."

I rolled my eyes and smiled at him, letting him know I wasn't hurt or angry.

"Jamie," I said as I put my hands on his shoulders. "You are an idiot and I love you. I hope you have fun at your party, If you need anything, give me a call. Doesn't matter why or how late."

He gave me a small nod, not quite meeting my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. If I need anything I'll call."

"Good," I said. I took my hands off his shoulders and held out a fist.

He bumped it with his own as Chloe climbed out of the van to wrap her arms around his legs in a goodbye hug.

"You're sure this is alright?" Abby asked me again.

I looked at her, confused by the concern.

"We do this _every year_ , Abs," I said, eyebrow raised. "It has _always_ been great. I can handle the tiny terror for one night, and I'll call if anything happens."

I thought for a moment before adding, "If anything, this year is _less_ of a problem. There'll be another adult around to keep an eye on her."

Not that Sans necessarily _would_ , but it was an option.

I wondered if he even _liked_ kids.

"Right," Abyy said, her expression softening as I eased her worries. "We'll be back to pick her up tomorrow. If we're not, we'll have James come get her. Four at the latest."

"Sounds great," I told her. It was tradition and I loved it. "I planned for this. My shift doesn't start until five, and my commute's only ten minutes. Even if you're _not_ back before I have to leave, Sans'll be around."

"We should have gotten you a roommate _years_ ago," Xander chuckled. I hadn't noticed him get out of the van.

He walked by me to pick Chloe up and paste a big kiss on each of her cheeks.

"Goodnight princess! Have fun with Aunt T, and don't be too much trouble."

"G'night daddy!" She shouted, directly in his ear. "Bye momma!"

Xander glanced at me as he put her down, expression guilty.

Chloe had her second wind, which meant I was in for a _long_ night.

Before I could say anything else she grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the apartment building.

I half-turned back to wave to my sister.

"Bye Abby!" I called out with a chuckle. "Bye Xander! Have fun on your date!

. . . . .

I had _expected_ to find the living room more-or-less how I had left it: Disorganized, with blankets and pillows everywhere.

So when I walked into my apartment and found a proper pillow fort, I was more than a little surprised.

Sans had ... made a blanket fort for me.

Sans had made a blanket fort for me ... and he was the _fucking king_ of sleep overs.

It was _awesome_.

He'd built a support structure out of what looked like gigantic, almost cartoon-like, femurs. They pulsed with an inner light, and radiated with violet completely different from their white core. Glow-in-the-dark fluorescence, dim next to the fairy lights that he'd wrapped around them.

( _Did I have fairy lights in the apartment before? Maybe I had them in the outside storage ..._ )

That must have been why he had requested to use magic. He wanted to make this.

I looked down at my niece. Her eyes were wide, sparkling in the fairy light. She was dumbstruck.

I couldn't blame her. I was, too.

I reached out to touch one of the support beam bones curious what it would feel like.

"I wouldn't touch it," Sans warned from behind me. I spun to find him in the kitchen, watching as we gaped at his handiwork. "There's a reason I put 'em up away from the couch."

Chloe made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a shriek as she _threw_ herself at the skeleton.

He stumbled, nearly falling down as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Did-you-do-this?" she asked, speaking so quickly her words blurred together. Sans wobbled, struggling to keep his balance and looking distinctly uncomfortable with his predicament. "It's-so-cool-and-so-pretty-and-I've-never-seen-anything-like-it!"

She took a deep breath and spun to look at the blanket fort again.

"Not even _Robin_ has such cool forts! And they have the _best forts_! This is even _better_! I didn't know there _was a better_!" she jumped up and down, arms waving in excitement, "Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!"

She spun back to look at him, her eager excitement fading to confusion.

"Who are you? Are you and Aunt T dating? Momma says that Aunt T - "

"Clo," I said, cutting the little girl off. I tried to ignore how I'd enjoyed Sans' being flustered by my nieces love. I would have gladly let her keep going, but she brought _me_ into it.

I didn't want to know what my sister said about my (lack of a) love life. Or my social life in general.

"You know the rules," I said with a sigh. "What are you supposed to do before you touch someone?"

Chloe's face fell, and she took a step away from Sans.

"I'm sorry," she said as she looked at the floor, wringing her hands together. "I'm sorry for hugging you without asking first."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she was looking up at him, stars in her eyes. Guilt replaced with wonder.

"It's just _so cool_! I got super excited! You made such an _awesome fort_! And I didn't think to ask you because it's _so cool_ and I just - "

She struggled, unable to find the words to convey her emotions, letting out an over-stimulated shriek instead.

Sans let out a soft laugh.

"S'okay kiddo," he said, smiling down at her. "Thanks."

"Chloe, go get into your jammies," I ordered gently, smiling at my niece. I leaned into the fort to grab her backpack. "I'll mark us some popcorn, and we can go through your treats."

"Kay!" she said, all smiles and sunshine.

She took her backpack and hugged it close to her chest before turning back to Sans with her brightest smile.

"Thank you, mister skeleton!"

Before either of us could react she was down the hall, slamming the bathroom door shut.

I snorted, smiling after her.

Then I turned to Sans with a frown.

"Not that I'm ungrateful," I said as I waved at the palatial blanket fort. "But if _I_ shouldn't touch these, is Chloe gonna be safe around them?"

Sans nodded. "She'll be fine. Kids don't have enough bad karma to get hurt ... "

I glanced at the bones again, uneasy.

"I don't actually know if they'll ... _work_ outside of an encounter," Sans added after a minute.

"And now I'm more confused," I admitted as I walked by him to get a bag of microwave popcorn from the pantry. "You're saying Chloe won't get hurt because she doesn't have ... bad karma?"

Sans nodded and I turned away from him to set the microwave.

"But _I_ might get hurt because I _do_ have bad karma."

"More or less," he said with a shrug. "Figured it was less likely you'd run into them than the kid. Any of my other constructs'd hurt both of you."

I hadn't really thought Sans would hurt a child. He hadn't been an ideal housemate, or even a good house _guest_ , but he wasn't _malicious_.

"Why," I asked. "Why go through the trouble at all?"

"Wanted to," he said as he pushed himself away from the counter, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. "She seems like a good kid. Figured she deserved a pillow fort."

"Well, you just volunteered yourself for pillow fort duty in the future," I said with a snort. "This setup is _really_ cool. I'm gonna need to get a picture of it for Abby."

I opened the microwave as the popping slowed down.

I bounced the bag to coat the popcorn with the "real butter flavoring." I was _pretty_ sure the flavoring was _not_ , in fact, "real butter.

But it was delicious, so I didn't really care.

"You really made her night, thank you."

I turned as I tore the bag open, holding it away from myself so I wouldn't get a face full of steam.

Sans was already gone.

I shrugged, dumping the popcorn into a large bowl. I'd make sure to thank him again in the morning.

For now I had an adorable fairy pirate to take care of.

. . . . .

It took Chloe the entire run of Corpse Bride to sort out her bucket of candy. She struggled to put any in the "save" pile, putting most of her haul in an "eat immediately" mountain.

As I worked on getting the next movie to play she opened her first treat. I was glad I had chosen a bunch of films in advance.

"Up next: Casper! Then _you_ gotta go brush your teeth," I told her as I started the film.

Chloe nodded, and I was pretty sure we _both_ knew she wasn't going to brush her teeth tonight.

Abby probably knew, too.

But I had to at least _pretend_ to be a responsible adult.

As the opening scene played I got up to rinse out the popcorn bowl. Chloe climbed further into the pillow fort, going all the way to the back. She sat cross-legged, candy bucket between her thighs, watching the movie as she ate a Rice Krispie Treat.

When I climbed in next to her she snuggled close to my side, moving the candy bucket between us.

"You can have one," she whispered, like we were in a movie theater. "If you want."

"That's very generous of you, my queen," I whispered back. "Thank you!"

I dug through the options before finding a fun-size packet of m&m's. I opened it with a grin, taking out a single candy.

I popped the candy into my mouth and held the rest of the envelope out to Chloe, who looked at me, confused.

"You said I could eat one," I said pointing to my mouth, "So I ate _one_."

She frowned at me for a moment before she caught on to the joke. She pushed my hand back toward me, giggling. "It's for you! You can have as much as you want!"

"As much as I _want_?" I repeated, looking at the bucket with an impish grin. "I'll take you up on that!"

I lifted the bucket up to my face, loudly saying "OMNOMNOM" and play fighting Chloe as she giggled and tried to pull it back.

"Aunt T! No! Not _all_ of it!" she squealed.

Pounding from my ceiling reminded me of the time. I winced and hushed my niece, handing her the bucket.

"Sorry Mr. Nguyen," I whispered toward the ceiling as we both fought off the giggles. "My niece is just _too adorable_."

I gently tickled Chloe's sides, making her giggle softly. She cuddled into my side and we fell into silence as we watched the movie and ate candy together.

I felt ... calm. Happy.

It was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: There's something Theresa needs to do to keep Sans. Too bad he hasn't mentioned it ...
> 
> \---
> 
> I also wanted to share what the pirate crew look like!
> 
> [Abby](https://imgur.com/11hJSzN), [Xander](https://imgur.com/9plm7bT), [James](https://imgur.com/qjO7AdD), [Chloe](https://imgur.com/Uvpcu3s), and of course [Terra!](https://imgur.com/k8D0lpc)
> 
> Minor differences, of course - Terra wouldn't wear heels but industrial boots, and Chloe (who I drew and based off of a costume I wore one year for Halloween) has fairy wings that I forgot. But, there's the whole crew! A group of big damn heroes, in my opinion.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Good Intentions (Frans Edition)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667298) by [Dale (Bouncyballblue)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncyballblue/pseuds/Dale)




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